A Shot in the Dark
by Renea
Summary: Because, as Miles Edgeworth knows all too well, things are not always what they seem; and bad things happen when the lights go out.
1. Chapter 1

Ok xD here goes nothing...

XD I've always loved crim-ey stuff, and I've always wanted to write something like that. I also adore the Phoenix Wright series, and if you know me at all, you'll know that, after a while, my brain just starts making things, and people up, wether I want to or not xDD so here's the result of my overactive imagination, and obsession with Phoenix Wright.

As for the character... I don't want to call this an "EdgeworthOC" thing, exactly. As General Rins (who's account you should check oooout! n.n ) put it, (I'm paraphrasing, of course xD she worded it better than this) "It's like in the game, where you can see it as a pairing if you want to." So... yeah. (XD y'ever notice how there are a ton of girls potentially paired with Wright, and Edgeworth gets...well... just Oldbag? xDD)

Anyways. Hopwfully, this works xDDD;; This is meant to take place soon after "Trials and Tribulations"

Disclaimer: The Phoenix Wright series belongs entirely to Capcom

NOTE: I've reworked this a bit. Also, I just played Investigations, and daaaaamn. I assure you, any similarities (all similarities) to case one are totally coincidental. I almost scrapped this, but meh xD; whatever.

* * *

"In other words, we're dealing with a whacko." The sarcastic remark was shot from somewhere in the group of assembled police officers, and the group murmured assent."We knew that already."

The young woman intruding on the meeting settled lower in her seat under skeptical eyes. Not that she could blame them, really. Tension was running high, and for very good reason. One police officers, and two corrections officers had been killed in the past two months, and there were virtually no leads, and no end in sight.

There was no headway, despite the fact that every bit of evidence, crime scene photo, and victim had been scrutinized again, and again. The results far from reassuring. The unsub, from what she could deduce from his actions, and behavioural pattern, was a fairly young male, highly intelligent, and highly 'organized'. Forensics had concluded that all three murders were definitely committed by the same man, and he had worked alone. The perpetrator would have to have knowledge of firearms to meet the horrifying modus operandi displayed consistently with each killing.

The first victim, Robert Young, had been shot in the upper back in the parking lot of the apartment building in which he lived. His body had been found at three the next morning, and the time of death, when examined, appeared to be only a few hours earlier. Bruising around the neck indicated strangulation. No one they had d interviewed had seen the crime take place, and those that did hear attributed the gunshot to a neighbour's television, or a dream.

Becky Miller, the second victim, had been shot in the back of the neck on her way home from the police station, found at seven the next morning in a football field she often cut through on her way home. The victim had also been strangled, though in this case, it was less likely to have been the cause of death.

The third victim, Spencer Garcia, had been found dead in his home the day before, shot, like the others, in the slower back, and again like the others, had been strangled after being left to bleed for a long while. No fingerprints, and was no sign of forced entry.

She was not comfortable with the idea of profiling– there was simply no real basis for it– but she had been paying attention to their assumptions, and agreed that they were logical. The evidence suggested several things, none of them good. The unsub had no preference for gender, but seemed only to be targeting law enforcement workers. He would seem non threatening, enough that Officer Garcia would have let his guard down at the door, maybe even inviting him inside, or, more frighteningly, was someone he knew. Most important, however, was the wound inflicted on each. Small, and non fatal, but agonizing, and disabling. Rendering them helpless, but aware of their suffering, and finishing them off when he grew bored.

The man was a sadist; he enjoyed watching his victims die.

As far as she could tell, the selection of police officers pointed either to a grudge against the law, or, perhaps as well as, the need to feel 'powerful' by taking the life of someone with authority over them.

The physical evidence was less than helpful. All three bullets had come back to matching a gun registered to one 'Mark Harris'. The problem being that as he was currently serving twenty-five-

to-life in the state penitentiary for assault, attempted murder and drug charges, and so, had a beyond perfect alibi. Strangely, that particular gun could not be found. A tall, golden haired man at the back of the room had shrugged sheepishly, and assured that it had been confiscated when Harris was arrested, apparently by the blond himself. "MacArthur," if she remembered his name correctly.

He would have to be a large man, the angle of each shot put the killer at six foot four, at the very least; definitely pointing to the 'young male' theory. Hand prints had been found, but no fingerprints; gloves, apparently. Though a few bloody size eleven footprints were another good clue– one of their only clues.

"So any of us could be next." MacArthur, who was leaning against the wall for lack of a seat added gloomily with a wince, and a nervous little half smile.

True enough, this was the young woman's first time working with this group. But in the days she'd been there, she'd heard, and observed several things, many about MacArthur. Whispers of incompetence, and bungled assignments were starting to foretell a demotion, or at the very least, a transfer from his division. Poor thing apparently couldn't handle the pressure of homicide well enough; was far to high-strung for the job.

"Hey! Let's not start with all that depressing talk, you got it, pal?" With this, a large detective she recognized vaguely stood from his chair, arms folded across his broad chest. This was his third emphatic outburst this meeting, and judging by the officers' reactions, not unusual. The bear of a man in the trench coat seemed to realize the others were staring, and plunked back down into his seat with a dispiriting sigh, and a bashful scratch at the back of his head.

"Detective Gumshoe is right..." MacArthur said anxiously. "We can't be getting panicked..."

A cacophonous murmur erupted from the assembled officers, MacArthur's distress catching. The man in charge barked for them to regain composure, and the crowd obeyed, the police chief checking his watch. They'd all been working late, on this case, and others, hyper-vigilance and an unusual amount of caution slowing things down significantly. It was now 11 PM and the meeting broke up with a warning of prudence, and carefulness.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute," The crowd filing from the room paused, as the chief of police got to his feet, dragging the girl to her own with a well meaning grab of her arm. "This is Miss Laurent, a psychologist. Some of you have been to see her already, but if you weren't aware, she's been working with us since this mess started. For anybody thinks they've started to crack up, and anybody who doesn't, she's in room 106."

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not really a grief counselor, but... I'll do all I can." The bear in the trench coat beamed at her. He had popped in to her room earlier, looking dejected, and though her prompting had done little but get him ranting about instant noodles and someone named Maggey, he had left a much happier detective than he had been, so she supposed it had been beneficial. She acknowledged him with a wave of her hand, and filed out of the room with the others, heading back towards 106.

***

Danielle packed her things up, feeling out of place with her notes and textbooks among so many uniforms, badges, and sidearms. Her desk was a fair ways away, and up a flight of stairs, so she moved against the rush of bodies heading for the exit, and grabbed the rest of her things before also seeking out the front door. The stream of tired workers had slowed to a trickle by the time her own shoes clicked against the lobby's tile, and a call stopped her.

"Miss Laurent, please wait!" A full head taller than she was, MacArthur was easily seen, and waved as he made his way over to her, never really increasing his pace, despite the urgency in his voice. "Hi," he smiled, extending a large hand, that she accepted, and shook. "You're new here, hm?"

"Yes, I am," she replied, smiling at his forthright pleasantries. "Thank you for the welcome."

"Do you want a ride home, Miss Laurent? It's dangerous to be out there all by yourself at this time of night."

"No, it's fine," she reassured. "I take the bus, but there are quite a few people from the apartment building I live in on the same one, so I never wait alone."

"Not waiting long, I hope." MacArthur glimpsed out the glass doors at the other end of the now empty lobby, eyeing the unusually cloudy sky. "We've been having some terrible weather lately. Looks like more rain."

"No, no... I catch the eleven fifteen." She glanced down hurriedly at the watch on her left wrist. "Speaking of which, the only one after that is at midnight, so I'd really better be going-" She started for the door, but he followed after, still chattering, voice content, but tight, and stumbling.

"So what is it you do, exactly? I'm afraid I've never really heard, let alone worked with a...um...a...?"

"Forensic Psychologist."

"Ah. I... I see?"

She smiled. "Basically, any psychology related to criminal investigations. Ensuring that witnesses are fit to testify, treatment recommendations... jury selection....We also do the evaluations when people try and plead insanity. That kind of thing."

"Oh." He nodded. "That sounds fascinating."

They'd stepped outside, the night air heavy and thick with moisture, the heat and dark clouds threatening another storm. They exited on to the main street, but her bus stop was down a ways, and so she started in that direction, MacArthur following distractedly, and before she realized, he'd shepherded her over to the parking lot, and stopped by a green sedan, that, judging by the key in his hand, and his movement towards the door, was his. She turned, eyeing the group huddled expectantly under a shattered glass bus shelter, and the red and white bus creeping up towards it.

"I**_ really_ should go-" **she insisted.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" he insisted, climbing into the driver's side. "It's no trouble, where do you live? I mean, come on. It's not safe for you out here, all by yourself, at... night..."

She shook her head, thanking him hurriedly, and taking off at a headlong sprint across the cement blocks at the edge of the lot, and patches of damp grass between asphalt and sidewalk, rolling her ankle with a grimace, and a hiss of pain, and flailing to keep a hold on her books. "No, no, no!" She groaned, gritting her teeth against the sting in the smarting joint, and dashed haphazardly after the large vehicle pulling away from the station, leaving her behind.

She glanced down at her watch, chagrined. Eleven sixteen.

She cursed under her breath, setting her textbooks, and notes in an unceremonious heap on the ground, the reality of her incredibly long wait beyond frustrating, as she cursed the lousy bus schedule, and her own lack of sense.

Why hadn't she just accepted the stupid ride?

The streets were dark outside of the odd streetlight's glow, this part of the city abandoned on a Wednesday, at this time of night. A few signs across the street were still lit, but the parking lots were nearly empty, and save a diner across the street, no windows were bright. A roar of distant traffic was the only real sound; no cars passing by.

She leaned against one of the metal posts making up the bus shelter's skeleton, the walls nothing but a pile of round, translucent, greenish blue, balls of glass, heaped near where the missing panel would have been, and scattered along the cement. Teenagers, no doubt.

Danielle contemplated crossing the street, but the diner was surely closing, and another letdown seemed too much in such a short period of time. So she busied herself pacing the circle of brassy light the lamp above, back and forth, one way then the other.

The sticky, humid air was bordering on unbearable, plastering her chestnut hair to her forehead. She was almost relieved when the first few drops of water spattered against herself, and the pavement, promising both discomfort, and relief.

She was thoroughly soaked in minutes, the rain beating down with increasing intensity, bouncing off the road, and rippling the newly formed puddles. She sighed, ensuring that her papers were properly tucked away in her bag, and resumed the monotonous strides back, and forth. A glance down at her watch revealed the time to be eleven fifty, and she relaxed, knowing that her wait was nearing an end. She widened the absent circles she formed in the lit patch, spiraling in, then back out again, until she drifted outside of it, before the hill, and patch of grass that water from the parking lot was now running down, streams of dirtied water merging, and flowing to the grates at the side of the abandoned road.

The other side, a dark alleyway, nothing but a dumpster and a few soggy cardboard boxes catching her eye in the darkness, and so she turned to start the coiling path back to her bag at the center of the bright ring.

Something moved in the shadows, only the corner of her eye catching the flicker.

A muffled scream of surprise, and she was dragged back into the darkness, kicking and struggling. A hand, clad in black gloves much too warm for the season clamped tightly over her mouth, another strong arm pinning her arms to her side, keeping her still despite her frantic whimpers and thrashing. She forced the lamentably flat heel down onto her attacker's foot, but his hold didn't waiver.

"Hold**_ still_." **The voice, a man's, was a raspy, disguised hiss in her ear. Steady, and commanding in it's tone, however uncomfortable it would have been to employ. "Stop struggling." He warned again. The hand silencing her snaked away, but the telltale sound of a gun clicking ready behind her head caused her heart to beat faster, and her blood run cold; throat dry, voice useless.

"Scream, and you're dead."

* * *

So, there you have it! xD my first chapter. Does it seem interesting at all so far? I hope so. Thanks to anyone who's reading this! A big hug for you! n.n Please review, and have an awesome day.


	2. Chapter 2

Let's play a game. I call it, 'spot the Aldous Huxley refference' xDD

I changed chapter one, a bit. It was bugging me, so I fixed it up a little.

Here's chapter two :) I hope you like it!

The Ace attorney series is not mine. It belongs to capcom :)

Also, I've been playing AA: Investigations? All similarities to case one are totally an accident, I swear. 

* * *

Pain and a dull roar of garbled sounds brought her back to her senses. The dankness broke into forms and the beginnings of colours. Bright bars of light swam overhead as the rest of the bleary room took shape. A searing pain in her skull seemed to trickle down into her stomach, and it churned uneasily, weakness and agony keeping her fixed securely to the firm, sticking cushions she felt beneath her. The sounds, hollow and from a figure obscuring the bands of flourescent light overhead, rearranged themselves gradually into words, and a moment later, into words she understood.

"_Miss Laurent? Miss Laurent, can you hear me?" _

_She became aware, now, that the groaning accompanying the coherent statements came from her own mouth, and with a wince and effort, forced them into the shape of her greatest concern. "My notes..." _

"_Excuse me?"_

"_My notes," she repeated more clearly, her hand groping blindly over the edge of the seat for her bag. "Where– "_

_The even, and rather rigid, voice persisted. "Miss Laurent, do you know where you are?"_

"_Precinct. First floor, lobby." _

"_Very good," he, for it was indeed a man, replied with a halfhearted attempt at enthusiasm. _

_She narrowed her eyes, as her thoughts returned to their normal speed, and forced herself up on her elbows. She processed the severe features of the man kneeling, disinterested, beside her. "Do I know you?" _

"_Not at all."_

"_What a relief," she smiled, letting her eyes slide shut again as she forced herself to sit upright in earnest. "Because I have no idea who you are." _

_The flourescent lights overhead were blocked out all together as another, larger figure dashed over, shouting in a voice that she, thankfully, remembered very well. "Hey! Hey, look, she's come-to!" _

_The man rolled his eyes and smiled tersely. "Thank you, Detective. How observant."_

***

"And then, Miss Laurent?"

"And then?" The young woman drummed her fingers against the stand's surface thoughtfully. "Well, I was checked over by a paramedic, and deemed healthy enough to return home. I took a substantial dosage of painkillers, slept, woke up, showered, dressed, ate breakfast, and then came here, Mister Wright."

"Ah," Phoenix cleared his throat anxiously. "And those painkillers–"

"Nothing too powerful," she added, nodding. "Nothing over the dosage, and worn off now."

"So you'll be in a considerable amount of pain, Miss Laurent?"

"Objection," came a languid voice from across the room.

"On what grounds, Mister Edgeworth?"

"Relevancy, Your Honour. The prosecution sees no point to this line of questioning."

The judge sighed, narrowing his eyes at the defence from behind his reading glasses. "Overruled, but what is the defence getting at, exactly?"

Phoenix glanced momentarily back at the girl beside him, then at his shaking client. "Your Honour, the defence insists that the witness's memory of the event is essential. I am merely trying to ensure that nothing is, uh... compromising it."

From the stand, the witness, one Danielle Laurent, shook her head calmly."I assure you, Mister Wright, my memory is fine."

_This isn't good... _Phoenix bit at his lip, but stopped when the prosecutor across the room caught sight of the nervous tick. She'd been through her testimony twice now, and everything matched perfectly with the two preceding witnesses, both of which had flawless accounts of the night's events. There wasn't a contradiction to be found anywhere, and when dealing with the likes of Detective Dick Gumshoe and Maggey Byrd, that was nothing short of a miracle.

Gumshoe had been to visit Maggey at a diner, not far from the Precinct, following a meeting that had run extremely late. Maggey had become a waitress there following the mishap at Très Bien not long before, and as always, her goddess of bad luck status had caused problems. She had spilled coffee over the counter, and sent a tray of cupcakes she was putting away for the evening flying. It was when one landed against the diner's front window that they had noticed Miss Laurent pacing by the bus stop, and her subsequent attack. Maggey and Gumshoe had both witnessed the young woman being dragged forcibly into an alleyway, and in an act of carelessness and brashness only possible through Dick Gumshoe, the detective had bolted out of the diner, gun drawn, and charged the man.

Surprisingly, the assailant had bolted rather than fire, himself. Miss Laurent had been struck once, with the back of the weapon, and then dropped as the attacker ran, gaining a brief head start as the detective paused to check on the victim; however, Maggey had followed suite, and the unconscious psychologist had been left with her as Gumshoe resumed the chase.

While only Gumshoe had possessed a weapon, Maggey had managed some shooting of her own. A rather grainy image, shot on a camera phone, had been submitted as evidence. It was rather useless, as Maggey herself had pointed out sullenly while on the stand, but it corroborated Miss Laurent's description of her attacker, dressed in black. That was the only really discernible feature, as it was essentially a photo of Gumshoe starting after a dark patch of pixels rounding a corner in the distance. The odd angle had him running almost sideways, along the small hill and an edge of the precinct's mostly abandoned parking lot.

It was further down the street around said corner that Gumshoe had found his client, idling under a street lamp, and resumed the chase, eventually tackling the young man, Neil Duncan, to the ground. A rather tall young man of twenty, he had been dressed in black from head to toe, and most damningly, had connections to Mark Harris, the drug dealer who's gun was supposedly the murder weapon in the three previous killings.

_Phoenix Wright_, he said to himself, resisting the urge to bolt for the door, _you certainly have your work cut out for you __**this**__ time. _

It was Maya who had talked him into this, of course. Not that he could have said no either, he supposed, when Marlee Duncan had arrived at their office early that morning, and begged them to take her brother's case. Naturally, he had no alibi for the times of the other three killings, but she had been adamant in her brother's innocence, and while a particularly pesky psychelock had barred them from his reason for being out there, at that exact hour, dressed as he was, there was nothing in place to suggest any dishonestly when he insisted that he was innocent, and had never harmed the three murdered victims, or this attempted fourth. What choice did he have but to defend him?

He could hear Maya's hushed encouragement, but couldn't quite focus as he poured quickly, mentally, over the evidence.

"One more time, Miss Laurent. Please, from the end of the meeting to waking at the precinct, tell me everything that occurred last night."

The witness took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's see... From the end of the meeting, I returned to my desk, and gathered up my things to go home."

"Your things, Miss Laurent? Such as?"

"A few textbooks I like to keep with me, and notes, on the day's cases, and patients," she informed him again, patiently despite the audible sigh and roll of the eyes from the prosecutor's bench. "I record things they say, and my own observations to help determine progress when they visit next. I'd seen several officers and detectives that day, in regards to the killings. While trauma counselling isn't my exact area, I can help refer people in need of more help than I can supply to the proper places and people."

Wright pulled at the collar of his shirt with a nervous, hooked finger, and pretended to ignore the well meaning smile that flickered across the psychologist's face as she noted it. He turned his anxiety instead to the papers in front of him, lining them up as she went on with her still-perfect retelling, so that Maggey's enlarged, grainy photo sat on top. The parking lot appeared to be deserted, save a green sedan parked beneath a street lamp, and a black van one row behind, partially obscured by the hill.

"Officer MacArthur offered to give me a ride home, but I had a bus to catch, so I declined."

"Which bus?" He tried, defeated.

"The forty-seven, at eleven fifteen."

"Then what?" Wright resisted the urge to sigh, glancing guiltily at Duncan.

"MacArthur got into his car, left. I ran after the bus, I rolled my ankle, I missed it."

"Where was the car parked?"

"The prosecution requests that the defence give up this pointless line of questioning. I think it's fair to deem Miss Laurent's memory reliable?" Edgeworth interjected, shaking an accusing finger in Phoenix's direction. The grey-haired man smiled smugly."The lady has been assaulted, and now you're harassing her." The rather angry chorus from the courthouse forced Wright to sink a little lower behind the desk; however, his eyes widened, and he stood straight when her even, collected answer cut through the disapproving murmur.

"He was parked at the edge of the lot, under a lamp, Mister Wright."

His face brightened, and a satisfied smile pulled at the defence attorney's lips. "And what kind of car was it?"

"A..." Laurent inclined her head, gesturing the general shape of the vehicle with her hands, beaded bracelets clicking together with the movements. "A hatchback," she started, "a...well, a car. I'm sorry, I know more about Freud than Ford."

"And what colour was this car?" He smiled at Maya, who looked slightly more reassured by his growing confidence.

"Green, I'm certain."

"It wouldn't be this car, would it?" With that, and a great sigh of relief, Phoenix pulled Maggey's photograph from his pile. "This is the photo submitted as evidence by the last witness. If I could direct the current witness's attention to _**this**_ vehicle..."

The young woman's eyes widened in disbelief as she examined the photo. "Oh!" Laurent clapped her hand over her mouth, eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, this is... but...."

"The timestamp on this photo says it was taken two minutes after midnight. Could you explain to me, Miss Laurent, how a car you claim left this lot at eleven fifteen hadn't managed to clear the parking space forty minutes later?"

"Objection!" The familiar sound of Edgeworth's palm on the wood of the bench cut through the excited chatter of the crowd. "The defence is neglecting the possibility that officer MacArthur did, in fact, leave, and simply returned later that evening. Do you have any evidence that the car was present between eleven fifteen and midnight?"

The judge's gavel was louder still, and silenced the noise with a few solid strikes. "Prosecutor, do you know if this officer is present in the courthouse?"

"Yes, your honour," Edgeworth replied, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Then I'm calling a ten minute recess. You," He indicated a bailiff with a gesture of his gavel,

"obtain a statement from this man, and then we will resume."

"That's it, Nick!" Maya slapped him a bit to heartily on the back. "You've got her on the ropes now!" she proclaimed joyfully, "go in for the kill!" Phoenix winced at the rather inappropriate analogy, but his face fell into a look of confusion, mirroring Maya's face as it did the same. "Hey, Nick, what's she doing...?"

Miss Laurent was staring rather intently at their trembling client, head inclined, head propped up against loose fist beneath her jaw, elbow on the stand. Across the courtroom, the prosecution had lost it's certainty. After a tense pause, the eternal ten minutes ended, and the bailiff returned, a signed paper in hand, which he passed, in turn, to the prosecutor– Edgeworth paled.

"MacArthur's testimony," he began, breathing deeply to steady himself, "states that he never actually entered the car. He swears that he walked her towards the bus station, until she took off running, and then returned to work, in his office, alone, until one. He wasn't aware that Miss Laurent had been attacked until early this morning, and left long after she did."

The witness's eyebrows furrowed. "I could have sworn..." she began, distracted. A triumphant grin pulled at Phoenix's lips.

"Would you like to change your testimony?"

"No," she replied, still puzzled and completely oblivious to the look of abject horror the refusal cast on the prosecutor's face. "He got into that car. That is how I remember it, I'm certain."

"Miss Laurent," he began with newfound confidence, "In your professional opinion, as a psychologist, if you were asked to evaluate a patient who had suffered an extreme shock and abject terror only a few hours prior, had sustained a blow to the head, and was demonstrating lapses in memory... Could you, in good conscience, deem this person fit to stand trial and give reliable testimony?"

"N-no," she paused, then shook her head more resolutely. "I could not."

Phoenix breathed a heavy sign of relief. He wasn't out of the woods quite yet, but this was something. "Move to strike, your Honour. Clearly the shock of the event has effected the witness's memory."

"Sustained. The testimony of Danielle Laurent is to be stricken from the record." From across the courtroom, Miles Edgeworth clenched his teeth and had paled visibly as the steady pounding of the judge's gavel called the session to and end. "This court will reconvene here, tomorrow, at eleven AM. The defendant will testify. Court is adjourned." And with that, their client was lead away, back towards the detention centre, as the sounds of Maya's joyous cheering rang out through the courtroom.

"Way to go, Nick!"

***

Danielle sighed, slinging her heavy messenger bag of notes and texts over her shoulder. Now as she awaited the bus, she kept well huddled into the crowd of fellow would-be passengers, trying to avoid glancing nervously over her shoulder any more than she could prevent. It was irrational. The killer had supposedly been apprehended, and in broad daylight, she assured herself, surrounded by witnesses, she was in no danger. The back of her head pounded dully, and she popped some mild painkillers into her mouth with a guilty flick of her wrist, and swallowed hard.

"Miss! Miss Laurent!" She started, a cold shiver running down her spine at the sudden outburst and the recognition of her own name. The jump had shrugged her bag from her shoulder, and tomes, binders and notepads hit the ground with a thud.

A dark red sports car had reached a stop sign at the corner a few metres away, and while the driver was less than enthused, it was the familiar passenger calling to her, leaning over the driver's side of the car.

"Miss Laurent," Gumshoe grinned, waving. "You're heading to the precinct too, right?"

"Detective..." the prosecutor began, a warning edge to his voice.

Gumshoe's eyebrows knitted above his puppy dog eyes. "You'd make a girl with a head injury take the bus, Mister Edgeworth?"

He sighed again. "Though it would be the chivalrous thing to do, detective, there is simply no room for her in my car." He glanced behind himself at the various necessities piled into the back seat. He chuckled to himself with a roll of his eyes. "Unless, of course, you'd like to do the gallant thing, take the bus yourself, and offer the lady your seat."

His face brightened. "Hey, good idea, pal! Maggey's waiting over there, I'll catch the bus with her!"

"Detective, I was– Don't– Detective Gumshoe, get back here this instant–!"

Gumshoe leapt from the idling vehicle, and pushed a similarly protesting psychologist towards it. "Detective, this is highly necessary, really, I like the bus– " As soon as he'd gotten her to the car, however, Gumshoe took off towards Maggey, and was out of earshot of her arguments.

She stared uncomfortably at the gaping car door, and the lawyer eyeing her warily from within. "Alright," he said finally, defeated. "Get in, we've both work to be attend to." And with that, she slipped into the passenger's seat, and shut the door behind, setting her book bag down between her sandalled feet.

* * *

I hope you're enjoying this so far! Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Part three! Thanks to everyone actually reading this xD much love.

Also, I apologize for my French. I've been in French immersion since kindergarten, and while I understand it really well, and speak pretty well, I still have a hell of a time writing sometimes xD;

Disclaimer: Ace attorney belongs to Capcom~

* * *

A complete quiet, save the dull humming of the engine and the muffled clamour of traffic outside, had settled between them as they crawled through the densely packed rush-hour commuters towards the precinct. The prosecutor's eyes darted from rear-view mirror to the absolute mess of traffic surrounding him from all sides. From what he could see, an accident between a taxi and a pickup truck was what kept him stranded, not to mention the two men shouting at each other on the street median. Edgeworth sighed, and drummed his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as he searched for an opening to escape the blocked street.

It was after a seeming eternity of anxious silence that Danielle finally spoke.

"I don't think he did it."

The statement was immediately swallowed by the silence, and Danielle sighed, resting her head on her fist as she turned her attention to the sunny day creeping by slowly outside of the car window. From the cautionary glances between the road and rear view mirror, his eyes flickered occasionally in his passenger's direction. She was a strongly built woman, of average height if note for the added few inches given by the thick heels of her black sandals. Her light brown eyes, though turned from him, were visible through their reflection in the car window. She was fighting to keep them open, a combination of the sun, the quiet, and the previous night's ordeal appeared to have left her weary.

"I go by the evidence," he started returning his attention to the crawl of cars. "If your... assumption is correct, and Mister Duncan is innocent, the evidence will verify it."

"Hm," she replied sleepily, swinging away from the window, and forcing herself to sit straight. Her attempt to wake herself backfired, and she now sank against the seat instead of the window. "I'm sorry. I didn't sleep very well last night," she chuckled weakly, eyes fluttering shut again. "I'll try and pull myself together."

He glanced back at the woman, furrowing his brow. "I could take you home, if you're not feeling well...."

"I just need some coffee, I'll be fine, really..." This was mumbled dreamily, and was far from reassuring. She made no complaint but the wince as her head hit the headrest, the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the bruises he now notes along her legs where she'd collapsed against the sidewalk sat uneasily with the prosecutor. Edgeworth shook his head, and hit his turn signal, finally seeing an opportunity to pull out of the traffic jam.

"I don't mean to be pushy, Miss Laurent, but I really must insist. You're not looking well–"

"Gee, thanks."

"– and given the shock you've had, I think it's fair to say that you need rest, if not therapy. I believe you're entitled to an afternoon off."

She chuckled, listlessly again. "I... think it might be best if I did go sleep a little... but I don't need therapy, Mister Edgeworth. I'm... a bit more jumpy than I remember, but I'm alright, really."

He quirked a sliver eyebrow. "Surely fearing for your life has shaken you? Thinking that you're about to die is certainly traumatic..." He cleared his throat, realizing that perhaps it was best not to draw from experience that he would rather not have to explain to a near-complete stranger. "But yes, where am I taking you? If you'd be so kind as to give me your address..." She protested, but Edgeworth countered her arguments. With the half hour they'd lost in traffic already, dropping her off would hardly be a waste of time, and so she conceded her address. He winced as she mumbled the location of an apartment building in a rather disagreeable portion of the city; nevertheless, Edgeworth turned the car in the proper direction.

She appeared to have regained a bit of her consciousness, and sat guiltily, toying with the wooden beaded bracelets around her wrists."You're being awfully kind to someone who's probably wrecked your case."

"Nonsense," the man smirked, shaking his head, "there is no such thing as a ruined case, provided that the truth comes out. If I wasn't able to bounce back from a minor setback like this one, I would hardly deserve to be called a prosecutor." He laughed to himself under his breath, as they turned around an unfamiliar corner. "Besides, the forensics lab will be done processing the evidence by tomorrow. They took the clothing the defendant was caught wearing," he reexamined the wavy brown hair, almost golden where the sunlight hit it, that fell around her face and down her back. "They're bound to find something of yours on that sweater, and once they do," he smiled more fondly, "even Wright won't be able to weasel his way out of the obvious conclusion."

The stupor seemed to have completely left her, and she smiled wryly."And if it doesn't?"

He acknowledged the possibility with an graceful inclination of his head. "Miles Edgeworth always finds the guilty party. Occasionally, that involves a 'not guilty' verdict."

"Ah," she returned to toying with the childish bracelets, smiling. "I see."

"Miss Laurent, if you wouldn't mind, I believe you will find my cell phone in the glove compartment. Since you should call in sick as quickly as possible, could you please inform detective Gumshoe that I'll be arriving very late, and without you?"

She complied, and pulled the device from the glove box, turned it on, and searched for the detective's number, trying not to be too nosy of the other numbers stored there. The phone rang again, and again, but the detective never answered.

The prosecutor, puzzled, glanced at the woman with his phone. "Is he not in?" She shook her head, and the creases between his brows deepened. "Odd... perhaps he left it somewhere. No matter...I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume it means he's hard at work somewhere."

It was after several minutes of directions into increasingly dingy streets that she finally asked him to stop, in front of a rather dishevelled set of apartments nestled between a convenience store and a parking lot in equal states of disrepair. "Here," she unhooked her seatbelt and took hold of her bag, stepping quickly from the car. "Thank you for the ride," she said, before shutting the car door carefully, "I really appreciate it." He realized he was being ridiculous as he contemplated walking her to the door, in broad daylight; however, a cry halted her just short of the doorway as a figure emerged from the convenience store, and made an angry beeline for her.

"Hey! You! Yes, you, you little brat, come back here! I want a word!"

He threw open his car door, narrowly avoiding a passing cyclist, and darted towards the altercation. Upon closer inspection, it was an older woman, and from her clothing and the odd hour, he could assume that this was a nurse returning home after a shift. The woman jabbed an accusing finger in the perplexed brunette's face. "Just what do you think you're doing letting your dog run loose around the building?" she raged. "That animal is your responsibility young lady. You cannot let it free in the hallway. It could get out of the building, get hit by a car, get– "

"D-daisy?" she stammered, eyes wide. "But she was on the couch when I left this morning... I locked the door, I'm sure of it, I would never..."

"Excuse me," Edgeworth cut in, his scowl seeming to startle the other woman out of her fury. "Is there a problem?"

"Y-yes, there is," she replied once she had recovered. "This idiot left her door wide open. Her dog got out, no surprise. I took the poor thing in, and I have half a mind to keep her!" She raised her other hand, indicating the box of dog treats visible through the plastic bag in which it was held. "Not to mention the god awful racket Jim next door says you were making a while ago."

"Ma'am," Edgeworth began steadily as a sort of uneasiness sank into his stomach. "Miss Laurent has been out all day, I can attest to that."

"Oh!" The woman's eyes widened in surprise, "then, that means... oh my, I'm terribly sorry... Someone must have broken in?"

"Ma'am, when was this?"

"Well, I found the dog about ten minutes ago, when I came home. Jim says he heard the racket about ten minutes before that, so..."

"Thank you. Miss–" his blood ran cold. "Miss Laurent?" The front door hadn't quite settled on its hinges. The prosecutor kicked himself internally. How could he have let her take off like this? He broke into a run after, only to stop dead when it occurred to him that he had no idea where he was headed. The nurse proved to be very helpful, and directed him to apartment 504.

He found the stairwell marked around a corner. Surely for five floors, going by foot would be more practical? He assured himself of this, and began the sprint to floor five, taking the grimy cement stairs two at a time.

She had beaten him there by a moment, and was paused by the only open door in the dingy hallway, and took no notice of him when he reached her. She was transfixed by the state of the tiny apartment the doorway looked into. Her small television, and some change on the nearby kitchen counter was left in place– this had not been a burglary; however, the door had clearly been kicked in, and every other door and cupboard had been thrown open, and furniture had been overturned.

"I believe," he began, careful to keep his voice even as he placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her quickly towards the stairwell, "that we should get you out of here, immediately."

"I had honestly hoped that I'd just forgotten to shut the door..." voice shaking slightly, she glanced back at him for some form of reassurance.

"Everything is going to be alright," he intoned, voice measured. "Duncan is in custody, so this could be completely unrelated, somehow. I'll call for police assistance as soon as–" His phone, which he had thrust into his pocket after Danielle's unsuccessful attempt to contact Gumshoe, began to ring, blasting garish computerized notes emphatically. He answered with one hand, careful to keep the other on the young woman's shoulder. "Prosecutor Ed–"

"Mister Edgeworth, sir!" the detective cut him off, frantically. "There's a problem, sir. A really, really big problem."

"And what–"

"Duncan's escaped, sir!"

"How the devil–!"

"It was while he was being transported from the courthouse to the detention centre, sir! Some idiot named Officer MacArthur was responsible for cuffing the guy, but apparently he screwed up. The suspect got one hand free, and ducked out of the car at a red light. MacArthur took off after him, and now we can't find him either."

"That... makes what I had to report a fair bit more troubling," the prosecutor frowned, gritting his teeth, and tightening his grip slightly on Danielle's arm. "I opted to drive Miss Laurent home, to rest. Someone has broken into, and ransacked her apartment. Nothing was taken."

"So, you mean...?"

"Whoever it was..." he said, quietly, hoping that the echo of their feet in the concrete stairwell would drown out his voice. Not that it mattered in the slightest. The psychologist would have undoubtedly have drawn the same conclusions as he had. "Whoever did this was most likely searching for her. Serial killers have been known to be unsatisfied with unfinished business..."

"Somebody's gotta protect her. We can look after her, right, Mister Edgeworth, sir?"

"I suppose.... We do have an investigation to complete, Detective, but I doubt that she would get underfoot."

"Sure thing, pal! Tell Miss Danielle that we won't rest until we've got this guy back behind bars. Also, that Maggey says hi."

He muttered a hasty agreement and greeting before hanging up, turning his attention back to the young woman who seemed to have steadied herself significantly in the past few moments. She stopped on the landing between the fourth and third floor, resisting when he pushed gently to urge her onwards. "I'd like to stay, if that's at all possible."

Edgeworth shook his head sternly."I would advise against it, Miss Laurent. It would be best to return you to the precinct at once–"

"I believe I could be helpful. You are investigating my apartment, after all. I know where everything's supposed to be."

Edgeworth sighed. Judging by the sudden bright glint in her formerly dull eyes, the woman was fully awake now, and considerably less passive. She was steadfast, and showed little signs of resigning herself to being scared away, and he had to admit that she made a point. It would be valuable to have help from someone who knew the former state of the room. "Fine," he conceded, narrowing his eyes at the grin her received in return. "However, I'll ask that we wait down stairs, away from the crime scene, until Detective Gumshoe arrives. I'm not exactly equipped to handle a threat, and I am responsible for your safety."

She nodded amicably, and started back down the stairs of her own accord.

"Oh, Mister Edgeworth?" She turned, giggling impishly, looking up at him from the following landing. "Was your ring tone what I think it is?"

***

Gumshoe navigated with a great deal of difficulty around the toppled furniture in the already tiny apartment. Various forensic officers hopped around the disarray, searching, lifting prints, and snapping photos. Nothing of any interest had turned up in almost an hour of looking; however, There was a clear footprint bashed into the door. It was a size eleven, consistent with their other findings, and consistent with Duncan. The problem was the general shape of the imprint. It didn't seem compatible with the sneakers he had been wearing in court. A more structured, rigid shoe seemed apparent, but the shape crushed into splintered wood might very well seem a bit distorted, and so Edgeworth hesitated to call it conflicting.

The steely haired man could not, despite his best intentions, find nothing out of the ordinary, save a forensic technician leaving the woman's kitchen with a sandwich that he had not had as he went inside. Miss Laurent had been very useful in restoring things to their original state, helping to clarify the intruder's movements.

As he scrutinized every inch of the rooms with a well trained eye, the only real oddity he could see was the state of the framed photos on the wall. They showed the same few children, in varying stages of growth, with a variety of adults.

"Looking for something?"

He jumped, whirling around to find Danielle situated directly behind him, and in the small space of the hallway, accidentally collided with her slightly as he turned. She flinched as his shin struck her own bruised calf, and the prosecutor blurted a less-than-eloquent apology instinctively, clearing his throat and correcting with a more collected, 'excuse me.'

"No worries," she had discarded the black sandals by the door, and was considerably shorter in her bare feet, and faint red lines crossed her ankles where they had been fastened.

"I was simply admiring your photographs," he stated as he justified the intrusion, though he couldn't quite meet her eye as he said it. "Who are these people?"

"My... my family... families, I suppose." She added the plural as an afterthought, head inclined as she took a step closer, beside him, to examine them as well. "These are my birth parents." She tapped on the frame of the picture farthest to the left, the beads on her wrist clicking together blithely.

"I'd been wondering about those..." Gumshoe poked his head into the tiny hallway, scratching bashfully at the back of his neck with a large hand, before lumbering to join them when she failed to protest his doing so. "Gee, I'm really sorry to hear about that..."

She closed her eyes, and shook her head, tucking a loose strand of golden brown hair behind her ear. "It's alright, Detective. I never really knew them... they were both surgeons. They died in that respiratory-virus epidemic, not long after I was born."

A light seemed to go on in the hulking Detective's memory. "Oooooh. Hey, right, I kinda remember that. Wasn't that just, you know," Gumshoe motioned upwards, "that didn't get this far south, did it?"

"_Nous sommes d'origine Québécois, Détective." _

Gumshoe quirked a thick eyebrow. "Ok, pal, I have no idea what you said, but it's certainly better than the last French guy I spoke with."

"Her family comes from the especially Francophone region of Canada," Edgeworth rolled his eyes, "And from what I've heard, I highly doubt that Mister Armstrong was fluent..."

The photograph seemed to have been taken at the couple's home. It was fairly cut off at the top, the odd positioning indicating the amateur use of a timer feature. A smiling man and woman, both with brown hair, stood in what appeared to be a fenced in backyard. The man, Danielle's father, shared her dark eyes and sunny brown hair, and rested a toddler with darker black-brown hair like the mother's in his arms against his hip. The mother rested a baby, which was presumably his charge, in her arms. Both the boys in the picture shared her blue eyes. The older son, perhaps ten, grinned at the camera from his mother's side. "Jacques– er, sorry, Jacob now," she indicated the younger with a tap of her nail against the glass, "and Michel."

"Anyway, mon _Grand-mère, maternelle _was our living relative, at the time. She'd moved down here to get away from the cold. My brothers and I lived with her for the next five years, but she died of natural causes, and we were placed into a foster home. We... were bounced around a lot, hence the number of different parents. There was a group home and Francophone couple they found for us, and then another woman in the first year alone. There have been seven, in total. These guys adopted us finally," she beamed, indicating a middle-eastern couple photographed with her younger brother and herself, at what appeared to be the young man's seventeenth birthday party. "The Raos are lovely."

The bizarre oddity apparent in the photographs was nagging at him, and he regretted the question as it passed his pale lips without much consideration."Your eldest brother simply disappears after this photo," he indicated one of the more centra pictures, showing a kindergarten aged girl among a what was most likely a ten year old Jacob, and the sandy haired boy in his mid- to late teenage years. "Was he taking the photos? Off to college?"

For the first time since it returned, her cheery expression faltered, and she took a step away from the photos, eyes now turned suddenly towards the commotion in the central room. "Not... quite, Mister Edgeworth. I'd best get back to...." she disappeared around the corner, and into the small kitchen as her comment trailed off.

"Mister Edgeworth, sir?"

"Yes, Detective?"

"Uh... I think you've upset her."

Edgeworth winced, crossing his arms defensively across his chest sorely. "That certainly wasn't my intention..."

A sudden cry from the living room caught both of the men's attention, and they dashed towards the excited forensics technician. "I've found something!" he cried, from behind an overturned chair. He held up, triumphantly, an evidence bag, containing three hairs, of a few inches in length. "They're definitely red. Our suspect's a redhead, right?"

It was generally concluded that with this discovery, the place had been swept clean of anything of interest, and it was deemed most useful to return to the precinct to collect the results of the forensic tests on the evidence, after a brief pause to visit Danielle's neighbour, and assure that her pet would be looked after while her home was a crime scene. The three paused when they returned to Edgeworth's car, and the two available seats.

"I...kinda hopped a ride with one of the forensics guys..." Gumshoe confessed. "But hey, you know..." he peered into the back window of the prosecutor's car, "I bet if you rearranged stuff back there– well, I sure wouldn't fit, pal, but we'd have more than enough room for Miss Danielle." Despite the lawyer's protests, Gumshoe set to work playing spare-tire tetris with the contents of the back seat.

"I don't understand. It looks like you have a fairly roomy trunk... is it full?"

Edgeworth bit his lip, and shook his head brusquely. "I don't use that trunk anymore, and have a perfectly reasonably reason for not doing so."

"Oh?" despite her prodding, the prosecutor said nothing, and hopped behind the wheel of the sports car and Gumshoe stepped away from the back.

"Here we go!" he exclaimed happily. He'd managed to shove everything into one side, and behind the front seats, and though it involved keeping her book bag in her lap and her feet on a small tool box and first kit, she did indeed fit.

***

"You're an awfully brave woman, aren't you?"

She smiled fondly, glancing over from her papers at the blond man who had wandered into her office. "Not so much, Officer. I don't think I had time to be frightened."

The sound of the door clicking shut, and the snap of the lock turning into place made her jump, and whirl back around again, as MacArthur strode closer, smiling, towards the chair set up against the side of the office. "You don't mind me locking the door, do you? For privacy," he said sheepishly, "you understand, don't you, Miss? I'd be awfully embarrassing if anyone overheard. Is anyone else even on this floor at this hour?"

"Not really..." she inclined her head, and glanced down at the clock mounted on the wall. "It's empty by now..." It was indeed getting late. She'd been hard at work going over evaluations from other cases, and the odd officer or detective who wandered into her room, though most had gone home by now. He had surprised her, and a chill passed down her spine as he took a seat beside her, despite his bashful smile. Clearly the day, and previous night's events had left her more skittish than she'd first thought.

"I screwed up big time, didn't I? Again," he lamented shoulders slumping. "The first time I arrest the bastard, Harris's gun goes missing from the evidence. Second time we catch Duncan, he gets away from me."

"Best not to dwell on those things, officer..." She reassured, turning from her things to pay him her full attention.

"This whole thing's such a mess... is it just me who's so shaken up?" he stammered, pale eyebrows knitting together worriedly. "Is this normal, or am I cracking up?"

"No, no," the young woman sat with her knees together, just below the hem of her skirt, sandalled feet leaned against the legs of her chair. "Many people are experiencing anxiety. It's only normal in a situation like this. But if you think you need more help than I can give, I could refer you to a psychiatrist. Are you having trouble sleeping, or–"

"It's just," he leaned in more closely, "I'm worried that I'm a... you know, a pansy, for taking this so hard. How is everyone else feeling?"

She shook her head, smiling rather uncertainly. "Now, you know I can't discuss anyone else."

"Because you know, Danielle," he rested his elbow on her desk, "you're an awfully big help around here, with all this going on–"

"T-thank you–" she stammered, leaning back away, against the other side of her desk, and furrowed her brows at him when he stood, and advanced further into her space.

"And, you know, it would just be a terrible shame for everyone here if anything were to happen to you– "

Both the officer and psychiatrist jumped as a mighty thud against the door rang out through the small office. "Hey, Miss Danielle, are you in there?" Gumshoe's booming, jovial voice cut straight through the locked door as he continues knocking vigorously. "Mister Edgeworth thinks we should head back to his office now. He's gotta put everything together for his case tomorrow."

"I suppose our time is up, then," said MacArthur, beaming as he took a step away, clearing room between her desk and the door, as she hurriedly gathered her things into the messenger bag, and pushed it open, stepping out into the hallway, and flicking off the light behind her.

"You know, Detective," said MacArthur, an uncertain smile stretched across his pale features, shoulders slumped submissively, "since you and the prosecutor have a case to manage, I guard the witness for tonight. I'd take really good care of her, I promise. Just... you know, gimme a chance to prove myself again? I won't muck this up too," he placed a hand on Danielle's shoulder, which she jerked away from his touch. He laughed it off, taking a step back. "Gee, you are jumpy today."

"Uh..." the detective scratched at his chin, and then the back of his neck again as he contemplated the request. "Well, I was assigned to guard her, and it's a bit late to be changing the game plan–"

"No, no, I get it. You think I'm incompetent," his grin clashed starkly with his words, and startled his superior.

"Well... uh, no, that's not it. It's just awful late, and Mister Edgeworth and I are gonna be up working on the case anyway, so it's really no trouble to watch her too."

"Suit yourself," he replied, taking a few steps backwards, and waving a listless goodbye, before turning on his heel and heading towards the far end of the hall, swallowed by the darkness at the unlit opposite end.

Danielle shuddered, as another swift chill sped down her back as she stared down the darkened hallway. Gumshoe's thick eyebrows knitted in concern. "Cold, pal?"

"No," she assured, staring, bemused at the floor tiles and biting her lip, one hand twisting the beads around the opposite wrist absently. "I'm just... tired, that's all. I'm still all fuzzy. It's nothing," she forced a smile, and started towards the stairwell. "Let's get going."

* * *

Hope you're liking it so far! Thanks! :D


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four :)

Again, here goes nothing xD;

Ace attorney and everything that goes with it belongs to Capcom :3

* * *

"I hope you don't mind," Edgeworth called over his shoulder into the cramped back seat, "if we stop of at the prison for a moment. I'd like a few words with Harris."

"Sounds like a good idea," Gumshoe agreed. "But I could stay out here with you, if you'd rather not–"

The woman in the back shook her head as best she could without getting a face-full of spare tire. "I'm not scared of the prison, Detective. I do most of my work there, normally. Actually, if you guys wouldn't mind, I do have some business to attend to myself, if you don't need me."

"We'll manage," the prosecutor quipped dryly as they pulled into their parking spot.

The red sports car came to a gentle halt, and with some difficulty, the passenger nestled between the miscellaneous necessities that would normally have been found in the prosecutor's trunk, hopped from the vehicle and joined the two men towards the building. To the younger man's horror, the chummy babbling continued, and as they crossed the lot Gumshoe had begun another trivial set of questions. "Why'd you go into this kinda work, anyway?"

"Well," she began wistfully, eyes turned towards the warming corners of the horizon peeking out between the silhouetting shapes of buildings and trees. "Children tend to imagine themselves with careers they're familiar with. Their parents' work, teachers, doctors... people they come into contact with." Edgeworth glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, as the rather unfortunate implications of this statement flitted gracefully over the detective's head. The sun was setting, and the day's warmth was fading alongside it. Danielle hugged her bare arms close to herself to keep warm, contemplating the jacket she knew she had stuffed inside her messenger bag, along with her books and notes, but decided to tough it out. "On that note, how does one find themself a detective, or a prosecutor for that matter?"

"Aw, I loved police movies as a kid! I always knew I wanted to be out catching bad guys, pal! And Mister Edgeworth's dad was a lawyer, so–"

The silver haired man clenched his jaw, shooting a warning look at the larger man, who grimaced apologetically. "Detective, that's quite enough." Danielle quickened her pace to get ahead of the gigantic detective, eyebrows raised imploringly, but the guilty detective refused to respond to the questioning look, and they entered the maximum security facility, and through the various security measures, with a tense silence hanging between them.

Danielle took off with a rushed 'meet you later somewhere,' before setting off down the hallway at a considerable walking pace that he imagined to be fairly difficult to attain in sandals.

"Well... good riddance," Edgeworth muttered to himself, as he turned to a warden for directions, and started down the dingy hallway after the prison guard. Gumshoe, in the silence as they walked, had difficulty repressing a wide grin, and eventually chuckled to himself, stifling it, and failing that, laughing a tad harder. "Detective, is something amusing you?"

He let the grin spread once the joke was out. "I think Miss Danielle has got herself an admirer."

"W-what?" Edgeworth placed a hand to his throat, clearing it, to counter the rather odd pitch his voice had hit unintentionally. Perhaps his cravat was too tight. "Detective, you are being absolutely ridiculous. This is absurd– "

"Whaa?" The detective's face fell, eyebrows knitting together as his voice hit a saddened note,"why not? What's the matter with Miss Danielle?"

He shook his head, stumbling over a proper response as he toyed with the cuff of his jacket."No, no, I didn't mean to imply that there was anything _**wrong**_ with her, of course not– well, impulsiveness and lack of common sense aside, that is– she's a rather charming– but really detective, if you're going to implicate someone in something, you'd best be able to _**support **_your theory–"

"Ohoho! I can support it, alright! I mean, it's awfully obvious," Gumshoe noted the colour draining from his partner's face, and scratched at the back of his neck, shrugging. " I don't see what the big deal is, Mister Edgeworth. It's real cute, that's all."

The prosecutor recoiled as though he'd been struck. "_**Cute– ?!**_"

"Yeah! I mean, the guy kinda... hovers around her a lot, and he was practically tripping over himself to take over guard duty from us. It's kinda sweet, is all. I mean, the MacArthur's kind of a nervous wreck, so I feel bad sorta for him, but–"

Edgeworth had come to an immediate halt, falling behind the warden and detective for an instant before shaking his head, sighing with relief, and resuming his previous pace. "Ah. How nice. I'm sorry, and not to pry, but to whom are we referring?"

"One of our guys down at the station," he replied, face scrunched in confusion terribly before resuming his normal grin. "He's a bit...dim, that guy, but hey, whatever makes her happy."

Miles Edgeworth's jaw clamped shut, as he repressed the painfully obvious response.

***

Phoenix was beginning to wonder if Maya wasn't simply an impossible-case-magnet. _The instant she comes back from Kurain for a visit, this happens._ "So they found the gun over here, hun?" Maya tapped a finger thoughtfully against her chin, poking her head into the alleyway.

"Mhm," Phoenix replied glumly, stepping into the dank gap between the two large buildings, the alleyway opening up onto the same street as the precinct. "Over there, in a trash can at the other end." The investigators had all but cleared out for the day, having found nothing else; however, there appeared to be one uniformed man still searching through the trash can in question. The officer, an extremely tall blond man, seemed to spot them, and stood, meandering hesitantly towards them, hands shoved in his pockets, and expression bleak.

"Hey, officer!" Maya called skipping to meet him. "Did you guys find anything here besides the gun?"

The man's sullen look fell away instantly, tanned face livid, eyes wide, and snapped a "What?" from between clenched teeth, "They found it already?" the clenched fists at his sides relaxed. "Damn..." He chuckled, weakly, the bizarre outburst fading back into the former meek complacency. "You know, I'd hoped that maybe if I found the gun... it would make up for losing Duncan... I was hoping to, you know, redeem myself... " He shook his head, and wandered away, back through the alley, before Maya could ask anything else.

Maya's puppy dog eyes had prevailed once again, and Gumshoe had given them a copy of the forensic report on the evidence when they'd visited the criminal affairs department earlier that afternoon.

Despite the damning escape, all of the information they'd gathered looked, surprisingly, good for their case. There hadn't been a trace of the victim anywhere on the clothing taken from him following his arrest, and the location of the gun was another contradiction. Gumshoe had caught Duncan lingering under a streetlight two blocks down, and one left turn from this alleyway, which simply did not make sense. This suggested that he had time to duck into this alley, hide the weapon (which showed no trace of any fingerprints, let alone Duncan's), run back the way he had come, and still have a considerable distance ahead of the detective giving chase.

The only logical conclusion he could see, based on these facts, were that another man had run this way, turned into the alleyway, and continued out the other end, leaving Gumshoe to run right into Duncan after hitting the end of the street.

Now, Phoenix thought with a heavy heart, all they had to do was find their client.

***

While strangely cooperative, Harris was less than helpful. Duncan, he had insisted emphatically, in spite of a glaring drug problem, would never hurt a fly, in any state, and had never shown any resentment towards the authorities. He also insisted that a police officer had indeed taken his gun when he'd been arrested.

If this bit of testimony was true, it presented a problem. The weapon had been taken into evidence, and then been stolen, which was definitely a point for the defense. Edgeworth's mind clicked through and discarded every possible scenario he could imagine, with no expiation to how the accused had managed to get his hands on a piece of evidence.

And to top it all off, to the prosecutor's extreme vexation, Miss Laurent was nowhere to be found. They'd asked the wardens, but apparently, she wasn't formally visiting any patients at the moment; however, one man had been helpful when her name was mentioned. "Wait," the prison guard said, snapping his fingers as a thought occurred to him, "Yea high, brown hair, lugging half a ton of books, messing with her bracelets all the time–?"

Gumshoe nodded emphatically. "Yeah, that's her, pal!"

"That way," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the visitation center. "Mitch isn't a patient, but she visits this one guy all the time. Visiting hours are over, but they all pretty much know her here, and she can be a real help, so the duty warden lets it slide every now and then, as a favour..."

Edgeworth scowled, eyebrows furrowing as he stalked off towards the visitation area after thanking the man briskly, Gumshoe jogging a few paces to catch up, until an abrupt turn down a hallway found the young woman. The garish flourescent lighting made her look unnaturally ashen, and ghoulish.

"That was fast," she winced letting the heavy door fall shut with a clank behind her. "Didn't hold you up too much, did I?"

Edgeworth opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. "Think nothing of it, Miss Laurent," he replied, voice oddly strained as he set back towards the car. Night had fallen in earnest now, stars poking through the dark sky above where they could fight through the city lights. Danielle walked quickly, hunched against the sudden cold.

It was only after pulling out of the parking lot, and hitting another wonderfully inopportune wall of traffic that the prosecutor cleared his throat, and glanced back into the seat behind him. Something had been distracting him all morning, and he was beginning to piece it together. "Who were you visiting?" Danielle said nothing, feigning distraction, eyes cast listlessly at the endless trail of headlights through the darkness, and the light fall of raindrops against the window; running, embracing, then braking apart again, forming droplet trails down the glass. Edgeworth quirked an eyebrow, shooting an irked glance into the rear view mirror that did not reach it's intended target.

Something about this had been distracting him all day. There was something about the entire situation that struck an eerily familiar chord with the young prosecutor, but he could not begin to imagine why. He lacked the facts, and the young woman was being less than cooperative; however, despite his inclination, he resisted the temptation to press her for more information. She was having a hellish day, and no one in their right mind could genuinely be living it so blithely. For now, he had an attack and three murders on which to focus

His own curiosities would have to wait until the guilty party was found, the felled officers were avenged, and Miss Laurent was safe and sound.

***

Danielle slid down the hallway wall to the floor, knees folded beneath herself, despite the chill passing through the cold, tile floor to her bare skin. She glanced upwards, turning copper eyes towards the detective also lounging against the wall, eyes fixed on the door at the end of the hallway. "So, does he always...?"

"Yep."

"All twelve floors?"

"Mhm."

"Wait, and he does this in a suit?" Danielle quirked an incredulous eyebrow, and let out a noisy breath when Gumshoe nodded again. "That's... I can't decide if it's admirable, or insane." The psychologist set to toying with her bracelets, before returning her attention to the detective. He towered over her standing, so now he was little more than a trench coat and a suit of pants, and for conversation's sake, she invited him to sit beside her. "So, have you and Mister Edgeworth worked together for very long, Detective?"

His face brightened, and split into a wide grin. "You bet, pal! Mister Edgeworth and I have been a team for years!"

"So you know each other fairly well?" He nodded again, and an impish grin pulled at the corners of her own mouth. "So, is it a carrot, or a stick or what?"

Gumshoe furrowed his thick brows in confusion. "Is what a what?"

"Whatever it is he's got shoved up his–" A crashing sound jolted her to silence, as her eyes flew guiltily towards the stairwell. "What I mean to say is," she tilted her head to one side, returning her attention to the beads around her wrist, "is he always so... serious? Prickly."

"Prickly?" the detective chuckled. "Nah. He can be, 'till he warms up to you a little....Or, you know, even then, but...." The detective shook his head, smile returning. "He's not as scary as he looks. Unless, you know, you've killed somebody, or something. In that case, yeah, he's pretty damn scary."

"I see," she replied, a hint of a smile flickering across her mouth. A legitimate thud of the heavy metal door being pushed open caused her to jump again, eyes darting towards the end of the hallway. The prosecutor stepped into the corridor, breath falling more heavily than usual, a slight flush the only indication of physical exertion. The man's jacket was folded carefully over the arm clutching the briefcase of notes and files he'd brought from the car.

He stepped over the detective's legs with a roll of his eyes, and unlocked his office door, setting his things down on the large desk before the large window, and setting immediately to work. "Miss Laurent?" he looked up momentarily from his computer, "According to the forensics team, you'll be able to return to your apartment as of four this morning. At that time, Detective Gumshoe will escort you home. Someone will take over for him, come morning."

"Sounds like a plan, sir!"

The next several hours passed slowly. Danielle sat with her notes, reviewing her sessions with bereaved law enforcement officers, and other defendants, as the detective and prosecutor (especially the prosecutor) tackled the evidence from ever discernable angle. A combination of her extreme fatigue, and an angrily grumbling stomach destroyed her concentration, and she found herself eavesdropping on the two men more often than not.

"I don't understand," she intruded, from her place at the other wall, when the lure became too much to resist . "What about motive?"

Edgeworth glowered, eyeing the spy, steely eyebrows lowered. "Duncan's father and mother both had similar drug habits. They were arrested when Neil Duncan and his sister were young, effectively breaking up his family. That would be grounds for resentment towards the authorities, would it not?" The skeptical 'hm' he received in reply informed him that no, it was not.

A less eloquent noise, the groaning, and high pitched squeal of an empty stomach, silenced her, as she ducked her head back to her books with a wincing 'excuse me.'

Edgeworth ignored the unintentional complaint for a moment, before a nagging sense of hospitality, or perhaps even chivalry called him to his feet, and to the electric kettle stashed away in his bottom drawer, and then to the water cooler nestled in the back corner of the room, and then back to a drawer along his windowsill. Rifling through the various bags and tins, and unfamiliar with her preferences, he found a fairly standard black loose-leaf tea, and withdrew it. Gumshoe watched the bizarre, unexplained series of actions quietly, Danielle glancing up at him covertly, feigning interest in the binder in her lap. A few odd, anxious moments later, he poured the contented teapot on his windowsill out into a matching china cup.

The rain had picked up considerably. The former shower was now pounding against the window, huge, forceful drops of water pelting the glass noisily. A distant rumble of thunder preceded a blinding flash of light. The storm was growing nearer, steadily.

"Here," despite following the events that led to it's existence, Danielle was still genuinely astonished when he presented the steaming tea cup, and pressed it into her hands. "I'm not sure it will do much good," he confessed, standing, "but it's all I have here at the moment."

"T-thank you..." she stammered, a beat too late as he'd already reached the other side of the room.

He turned back momentarily, watching her stare at the hot drink, then glance back at him. "Ah, of course," another quick trip to the same drawer, and he dropped a packet of sugar, kept solely for such an occasion, onto the couch beside her."Blasphemy," Edgeworth muttered under his breath as she happily ruined the drink. She took a sip, and sighed contentedly.

The thunder grew louder, and the bursts of light occurred more, and more frequently, with growing intensity. Sleepy, she easily became enthralled the storm raging outside, and teacup in hand, strode closer to the window for a better look. "Hey, Mister Edgeworth?"

He replied without looking up from the file currently splayed out on his desk. "Yes?"

She giggled. "I'm lovin' the Steel Samurai figurine."

A beat, "I'm not going to acknowledge that," he paused, adjusting his grey waistcoat indignantly. "And I'll have you know it was a gift."

She let the subject drop, and was convinced to observe the rain in silence for a short while longer, before sighing, and taking another sip of her tea. "I'm sorry I couldn't be more of a help. My work is more...long term, I suppose. There's not much I'm good for without a suspect, or witness to evaluate, and even then, it takes a while..."

The silver haired man paused, stood, and a stride brought him to the window beside her. A clap of thunder rang out somewhere in the distance, lagging behind the last violent flash of light. "Why did you request to stay? No one would blame you, for getting away from an apartment that's been broken into with, presumably, murderous intent."

Her eyes sank to the street, far below them, before she returned her gave to their reflections. "Unlike his first three victims," she began, hesitantly, "I was given time to... think things over." She tucked a disobedient strand of hair back behind her ear, eyes flickering momentarily in his direction before resuming their calm, even gaze forward. "I'm only alive to begin with because of Detective Gumshoe, and the incident at my apartment... People like this can be very...tenacious. His first three killings went off without a hitch, or any real evidence, but by surviving, I've..." she bit her lip, "thankfully, but unintentionally ruined things. He'll want to fix that, I think."

Edgeworth smiled grimly, his stomach knotting at the memories this subject revived. "I agree," he said, voice low. "I've seen the lengths to which an obsessed man will go to maintain," he cringed, "a 'perfect' record."

She looked up at him at this statement, but received no response. " I'd hoped that he'd be scared off by all this, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. He tried again as soon as possible, and you guys can't watch me forever. Eventually, I'll...." she paused, and glanced back down at her cup, taking a sip. "Better to acknowledge the worst as a possibility, and do whatever I can to help, I guess... If that makes any sense..."

A momentary expression of shock flickered across his reflection, but the admission was as expected as it was impressive, when he considered it. Her initial terror had vanished much too quickly to have been natural, and her change in demeanor had occurred as he was discussing the threat to her life over the phone, which she had presumably overheard. "That's... very courageous, Miss Laurent." She was having difficulty keeping her eyes open, again.

"No," she sighed. Despite the half smile and her seeming-composure, the teacup in her hand shook unsteadily with the trembling of her hands. A glance downwards verified that her knees were threatening to fail her, and buckle. "I... I am frightened," she confessed, "but that won't do me much good, or anyone else for that matter."

"It isn't going to come to that." She peeled her eyes from the darkened sky outside, and met the other's gaze. His jaw was set, eyes fierce and voice steady. "Miss Laurent, the detective and I _**will**_ apprehend the man responsible, you have my word." A curt, and oddly sincere little bow startled her, and she breathed a giggle. "Now is not the time to be making final arrangements. No one outside of Criminal Affairs knows that you're here. Provided you don't set foot outside of this room, you should be perfectly safe. "

She nodded, anxiety was still visible beneath the counterfeit smile, but she was perhaps reassured slightly. "Thanks for that," she finished the cup of tea, and with another thank you, returned it to the tray, as he offered her more. A shrill humming sound interrupted, before she could reply, and her smile fell, stalking back towards her bag, and withdrawing the discontented piece of machinery from inside. "Again, Jacques? Really?" She rolled her eyes.

Gumshoe looked up from the files scattered across the desk. "What is it, pal?"

"My brother keeps texting me," she sighed, flipping the cellphone shut again.

"Shouldn't you answer him?"

"If I can think of another way to respond to 'I told you so,' then I'll do it. That's all the messages boil down to." She collapsed back onto the couch, arms folded across her chest, her own notebooks and folders bouncing slightly on the adjacent cushion. The woman's eyes flickered closed and her back strained as a yawn tugged at her frame.

"Feel free to sleep, if you'd like," Edgeworth proposed, returning to his desk. "We'll wake you when it's time to return you home." She nodded sleepily, mumbling something in reply that didn't quite reach his side of the room, before leaning down and unbuckling the straps around her ankles, and kicking off the sandals, setting them neatly to the side before the sofa. Similarly, she gathered up her bag and it's dispersed contents and set them down beside the shoes. She paused, returned her attention to the messenger bag, and pulled a crinkled, mess of fallow fabric that she unfurled from a crumpled ball into her coat. She threw the makeshift blanket over herself as she pulled her now-bare ankles beneath her, and curled herself into a precarious little ball, to conform with both the small dimensions of her blanket, and the narrow couch.

Despite the storm's increasing fury, and in spite of the pounding of rain, like machine gun fire against the window, the increasingly dramatic cracks of thunder and more imposing flashes of lightning, Miss Laurent was soon sleeping contented, breathing deep and steady, still save the occasional shrug or wince that soon shook the blanket from her shoulders and on to the spotless wood floor.

Save the steady staccato of his quick fingers flying over his keyboard as he summarized his plan of attack, silence fell between the two men, interrupted only by the rain.

"Hey, Mister Edgeworth?" Gumshoe said cautiously, glancing from the still form sleeping beside them to his partner and back again.

Edgeworth glanced over from the keyboard, "Yes, Detective?"

"Ah," he grinned, and returned sheepishly to staring at the evidence photos, "never mind."

Both men startled, as an especially imposing clap of thunder seemed to fall from overhead, and all at once, the room fell dark, as did every other window in view. "Drat!" The prosecutor hissed at his comatose laptop and departed text file. The room's only light now came from the odd emergency flashlight plugged into a few electrical sockets, and the occasional strike of lightning.

"Nothing to do but wait for the power to come back," the detective noted glumly. It did not; however, there was another blaring of computerized notes in the stillness, and Edgeworth pulled his phone from his pocket, once again.

"Prosecutor Edgeworth?"

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"This is Officer MacArthur, with criminal affairs, sir," replied the man on the other end of the line, voice muffled both by static, and his own timidity. "Is Detective Gumshoe there?" He handed the larger man the device, and scowled at the side of the conversation he could hear.

"Yeah. What....? Really....? Real important, hun...? Good work, pal...! Alright, I'll be there right away.... uh, I dunno–" he pulled the phone from his ear, and turned to the silver haired prosecutor. "MacArthur says he's found something really important. Do you want to come with me, or," he jerked his head towards the couch, "would you rather stay here? 'Cause I can handle it, if you want–"

He paused, eyes closed in thought for a moment. "No..." he decided finally, "It would be best to accompany you. I should be as informed as possible with regards to the evidence."

"Alright, we're on our way," he ended the call, and returned the cell to its owner.

Edgeworth pulled one of the flashlights from the wall socket, and started for the door, pausing before pushing it open. A faint chattering of teeth had caught his attention. "Here," he handed it to the detective before quickly gathering the coat from the floor, and laying it back over the shivering female. "There," he sighed, resolutely, backing out of the office and locking the door behind him. "That should do it."

***

Danielle's eyes flew open, though for all the good it did her, she might as well have left them closed. She sat up, wincing as a blinding flash of light seared her eyes, and ghostly spots danced before her eyes as the darkness swallowed her again.

Her eyes did eventually adjust to the light, and she could tell, to her confusion and a twinge of anxiety, that she was alone.

The sounds of the rain and thunder had not disturbed her sleep. Another more insistent sound had woken her. A chill passed down the girl's spine, and she pushed herself upright, creeping quietly off of the sofa, bare feet against the icy floor towards the source.

***

"This is ridiculous," the prosecutor let out an impatient sigh as the wall of taxis finally began to move. "What the devil is all of this traffic doing at three in the morning?"

"Well, it's a Saturday night, sir. I bet everyone's been out clubbing. You know. Um-che, Um-che, Um-che..." The prosecutor focused all of his efforts on pretending not to notice the dance his partner was attempting in the passenger's seat. At least it wasn't the blue badger flailing, again.

Truth be told, all dancing aside, his mood was foul to begin with. They'd driven to the precinct only to be told that not only was MacArthur not present, but had not been present all afternoon. A quick call to the number they'd heard from informed them that supposedly, he'd assumed they'd known that he was still investigating the apartment.

"You know, never mind." The prosecutor's expression became grim as he pulled away from the blockage, and started back for the Prosecutors' offices. "Whatever it is, he can tell me in the morning. This is absolutely absurd. He could have told us over the phone..."

"Yeah," Gumshoe agreed. "MacArthur's kinda... you know.... dumb, that way. I feel bad for the poor guy, he's kind of become the criminal affairs department's go-to punch line."

Edgeworth raised an incredulous eyebrow at the detective, but held his tongue. They had stopped at a flashing red streetlight when the windows and signs of the various buildings around them sprang back to life. "Ah," he smiled. "Good news at last. This should facilitate things." He was pleased to see the Prosecutors' building similarly lit when they pulled up to it.

"Uh, here," Gumshoe offered, "I could let you off here and park the car, since, you know, it'll take you longer to get to the office." He glowered at the other man. "I promise I won't bump into anything this time, pal!" Edgeworth, exhausted, conceded his keys, and hopped from the vehicle.

The ran had finally let up, a drizzle in the downpour's place, but the air was still frigid and he pulled his jacket closed as he started up the sidewalk, towards the building. It was a chance flicker in the right direction, at precisely the right angle that stopped him dead in his tracks. "D- detective!" He cried reflexively in abject horror, voice carrying over the rain and to the car that had, thankfully, not yet pulled away from the sidewalk.

Gumshoe dashed over to his partner's side, trench coat flapping behind him. "Hey, pal, what's the–"

Nestled behind a pile of cardboard boxes and trash cans in the alley beside the building was a prone, lifeless figure. A pallid hand, off coloured in some places, was visible, extending into the rainy passage. Edgeworth's dark eyes remained fixed on the few smashed, gaudy beads still clinging in vain to the string around the fragile wrist.

"Mister Edgeworth," the detective intoned, pulling his gun– Edgeworth was almost certain he'd never actually seen it, though he knew it did exist– from under his coat, and surveying the area cautiously, "You stay right here, sir. I'm gonna call for backup, and secure the area. Whoever did this might still– " The prosecutor nodded sluggishly, and the detective wasted no time in dashing to inspect the most obvious hiding places for an angry lunatic.

After a wasted moment to collect himself, the prosecutor flew to the alleyway, to properly examine the crime scene. As he had feared, Danielle Laurent lay motionless on the rainy pavement, eyes wide, in a steadily growing pool of her own blood. "Growing?"

Something occurred to him, and he dropped to his knees beside the victim in spite of the very insistent cry to 'preserve the crime scene' he'd had etched into his subconscious while learning his profession. Was it simply gravity draining the blood from a wound in her back, or...?

He lay a hand against her cheek– warm. She was still warm. Frantically, the young man leaned in close, bringing his ear to her ashen lips. Sure enough, though just barely, he could hear a faint gasping of breath, and feel a weak wisp of warm air against his face. "Detective," he stammered, words growing in their volume and urgency, "make that first call an ambulance."

* * *

As always, reviews are lovely :D thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

On a related note, I simply cannot stop listening to 'A little fall of rain,' from Les Miserables xD


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter is too damn short D: ugh, why do I fail? xD

Don't have much to say about this. Hopefully it's alright :) I hope you like it! Thanks to Steel-Plated-Bambi for beta-ing (part of it, anyway. So if the rest is riddled with punctiation oddities and grammatical nightmares, that's my fault XD; ).

Ace attorney series belongs to capcom :3

* * *

The prosecutor's breath grew slow, and deliberate as he bit back on the panic threatening to cloud his judgement. The rain was distorting things, he assured himself. The wet pavement was making the dark puddle of blood appear more substantial than it actually was. He'd simply jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was a cut, a small gash somewhere he couldn't see. She had hurt herself, left the building in search of help, and collapsed.

Of course, to assume that this was the case, he would have to completely ignore the discolored band of contused skin around her throat.

Edgeworth grit his teeth, and glanced frantically over his shoulder. Crying for help was the most obvious course of action, but her attacker could still be nearby, and to draw attention to them now, with Miss Laurent clinging to life, and himself in no position to defend her from an armed lunatic, it was best to stay sheltered. He would have to care for her himself until the paramedics arrived.

Besides the obvious, shock was another consideration. The general blur of childhood swimming classes, and mandatory first aid through school left him feeling less than well prepared, but the threat of heart failure from trauma he remembered vividly. To keep her warm here would be near impossible, and reassurance, by this point, seemed a token gesture at best, but he set to it nevertheless. It was said that hearing was the last sense to leave the unconscious, and so, perhaps she could hear him still, and he made sure to speak as he set to examining her for injuries. "Miss Laurent," he fought to keep his voice steady, and reassuring, "this is Edgeworth. Detective Gumshoe has called an ambulance, and they will be arriving any moment. Everything is going to be all right."

Initially, he found nothing but the deep bruises on her throat and potentially broken wrists, but he soon noted a blow to the head as he examined the girl's lifeless, quivering form– no, that wasn't it. The wounded young woman was still as the grave. It was his hands that were trembling. The blood was seeping from a wound in her back. Steeling himself, and continuing his absent muttering of intended comfort, he took hold of the wounded girl, and gingerly turned her on to her stomach.

There was a sickening crackling sound, and the prosecutor's blood ran cold. "_**Damn it**_," he hissed, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and bunching it between his hands. A gaping wound, oozing blood, pierced the young woman's lower back, about level with her navel, dead center. The gentle stream of what he now knew to be blatant lies took on a more urgent tone as he pressed the fabric against her back to stop the bleeding. She was losing blood quickly, the colour drained completely from her skin, and he saw little chance of her making it to the ambulance if left to bleed freely. Edgeworth glanced over his shoulder at the street, ears straining for any sign of a siren. "Everything is going to be all right, Miss Laurent," if he didn't believe them, he wasn't sure how he expected the words to do her any good.

What was left of the downpour had left him soaked, water plastering his steely hair to his face, and running into his eyes. Despite the obvious pain the wound– and his pressure against it– must have been causing, there was no reaction. Similarly, the sound of his voice earned no response, but his panicked babbling persisted instinctively.

"You're going to be all right. Everything is going to be fine," his voice shook, as he set once again to lying through his teeth, "You're alright. I've got you... Of all the_** moronic..**_. you're safe now... you stupid, _**stupid**_.... the paramedics will be here any second... why would you leave the room? All you had to do was stay put, and everything would be fine, you_** idiot**_... just hang on, Miss Laurent... Danielle... "

Murder victims, he concluded, were vastly more agreeable dead than dying. His was a work of careful preparation, logical thought, and extensive reflection. His obligation to the victim was indicative of such. His duty was to bring the guilty party to justice, and there he excelled. Care of a dying woman required expertise he simply did not possess, and the seeming-hours that passed, while he anticipated those who did, were enough to drive him mad.

He swallowed hard, stomach lurching when he noted that the tiny movements of her breath had ceased. "Danielle? Danielle, stay with me... Don't you _**dare**_...no, no, no..."

Over the past few years, Miles Edgeworth come to accept defeat– the 'Demon Prosecutor' was no more. When all of evidence was presented, and all leads exhausted to their logical conclusions, the truth became apparent, and the correct verdict would invariably be handed down. A loss in court was not a failure. This was failure.

He refused to accept it gracefully.

With another careful motion, he returned her to her previous state and verified her lack of respiration. Nothing. Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he pressed two fingers to her throat, and let the tension in his chest alleviate slightly as a weak, but nevertheless present pulse beat timidly through the bruised skin. One hesitant hand lifted, beneath her jaw, the other on her forehead. He pushed the rain soaked hair from her face, and gently lifted her chin, mouth falling open. It was next to useless– he had no delusions of reviving her, but it would perhaps it would buy her some time. The hand cradling her head moved to plug her nose between chilled fingers. Edgeworth took a breath.

She was cold. The rain and pavement were sapping the heat from the dying woman, too quickly for her failing body to contend. "_**Breathe,**_" he murmured, as his own expired air bounced back against his cheek. Her body failed to take the cue, and resume on its own. He again sealed his mouth over her own, but her chest rose and fell only with his assistance.

The phrases never far below the surface of his conscious mind seemed to mock him now, and an echo of 'stop breathing my air' rang in the young man's ears.

"_Go on," _if words failed to reach her, thendesperate thoughts perhaps. "_Take as much as you like. You're welcome to it. I have plenty." _

The cycle continued without success until red and blue light lit the darkened alleyway, reflected by the drenched pavement, and the prosecutor surrendered her defenseless form to more capable hands.

He resisted the paramedics' attempt to examine him as well, and with the bleeding woman to attend to, no one persisted. He was left to linger in the alleyway, brows furrowed, a hand pressed against his lips, long after her still form had been loaded onto a gurney and taken away. Detective Gumshoe wove between the various officers and paramedics, usually jolly face set gravely as he made his way over to the dazed prosecutor.

"Coffee," was the prosecutor's greeting, and his scowl grew more pronounced.

"What?"

"_**Coffee,**_" he repeated emphatically.

The detective's face contorted in confusion, and he took a step closer, "what, do you want some?"

"No, no," Edgeworth shook his head, wincing. "She... her...." he replaced his fingers over his lips, "where on earth did she get coffee?" He wandered off pacing, hands thrust into the pockets of his soaked suit. The sudden image of hidden compartments around the Prosecutor's Offices in which Prosecutor Armando had painstakingly stashed away copious quantities of his beloved blends made him chuckle to himself. His absent trail came full circle, and the silver haired man stopped before the crumpled remains of his jacket. He stooped, and took hold of it, unfolding the crinkled mess; distracted, bloodied hands smoothing out the bloodied fabric. "Ruined. Absolutely ruined."

"Mister Edgeworth," the detective's voice was low, and careful, "sir, are you going to be alright?"

"Of course, detective," he turned the gory thing in his hands for further inspection. "I have others."

"That isn't what I meant," he repeated insistently. "You're not looking so good. You should let the paramedics look at you, pal."

Edgeworth pushed his rain flattened hair from his face, leaving his palm against his forehead. "Nonsense, detective. I've too much work to get to," and he staggered a few steps towards the building's entrance. There was another directly beside them in the alleyway, but it only opened from the inside. Gumshoe grabbed hold of his arm. He persisted when the lawyer tried to break free from his grasp, grey eyes still averted, unfocussed, towards the ground.

"Nuh un, pal. You're going home."

"You're right. I absolutely must walk Pess... It's been all day."

"Mister Edgeworth, it's four AM." He furrowed his thick eyebrows. "You're gonna go home, get some sleep, and kick everybody's butts in court tomorrow with logic and stuff. If you want to help Miss Laurent, you get the creep who did this to her put away, once we find him."

***

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and an angry clench in his jaw, Edgeworth narrowed his eyes at the evidence bag, and the man who had handed it to him.

A door handle.

Danielle Laurent was clinging to life for the sake of a door handle.

"Yeah, and so, when I lifted these prints from the door to the bathroom, I figured I'd found something real important, and I called you right away, but you guys never showed up, so–"

"MacArthur?"

"Yes Detective Gumshoe?"

"Shut up."

***

It was impossible to tell, as he glanced around the courtroom, who looked worse for the wear: Duncan, or the prosecution.

An alarming phone call from Detective Gumshoe had brought him to the office at about five that morning, and upon reaching the door, found Neil asleep in a crumpled ball. He claimed to have been there all night, and as difficult as it was to believe, the magatama in his pocket proved this to be the truth.

Duncan was pale in his seat behind the witness stand, and not without reason. Edgeworth was eyeing him ferociously, and though he usually seemed more the crime-drama sort (though Phoenix was certain he'd barely stand out in period-pieces from several eras), this morning found him looking more like something straight out of a horror film, dark circles and all.

The normally talkative young girl beside him was dead quiet now, save the steady humming, low under her breath, that she believed helped her to focus. Eyes closed and stalk still, Maya Fey had been trying to channel the possible fourth victim all morning. As of a last-minute call to the hospital, Danielle Laurent was alive, but less than stable, and while it seemed morbid, the young spirit medium was determined not to let a second of time be wasted if the worst was to come to worst. Her distinct lack of anything resembling success was, for once, reassuring.

Occasionally, Edgeworth would glance tersely in her direction. The once skeptical prosecutor had come to put faith in Maya's gift, and though it was minute, seemed relieved when a glance to Wright's side confirmed that Maya was still much herself.

An scandalized chatter rose in the courthouse when Duncan presented his explanation, but Phoenix steadied himself, and prepared to counter all arguments. He had this thought out, and was ready for everything the prosecution had to throw at him. Neil Duncan was telling the truth, and he was determined to prove it once and for all.

"I got a phone call two nights ago," he began nervously, his fair, freckled skin burning red with embarrassment. "It was from somebody who claimed to be involved with Harris."

"And," Phoenix began, "what exactly was your relationship with Mister Harris?"

His flush deepened. "M-my dealer..." he admitted. "I have a problem. I got out for the possession charges two months ago, and I swore that was it, but..." he ducked his head, shamefaced. "It isn't that easy. I don't want to worry my sister anymore, but when I got that call, and the guy on the other end offered to sell me some, I... I caved. I was weak."

"And what did the call consist of?"

Neil sighed. "The dude asked me to wait, at that corner, at about midnight. He told me to wear black, so he could recognize me."

"And this man never did show up?"

"I didn't see anybody into this giant detective runs at me with a gun. I thought I was going to piss my pants." Duncan nodded, and Phoenix smiled.

"I can't exactly say the reasons were pure, but clearly, my client was out there for something that had nothing to do with Miss Laurent's attack." He raised the forensic report in his hand. "And there was absolutely no evidence related to Miss Laurent found on Mister Duncan, anywhere."

Edgeworth scowled at him from across the courtroom. "We're supposed to ignore the evidence found at D–?" he faltered, wincing visibly. The grey haired man screwed his eyes shut for an instant to compose himself, before amending his statement. If anything, he only appeared more shaken. The tiny slip of the tongue that Phoenix doubted anyone else had caught seemed to distract him, now. "The victim's apartment," he corrected.

"Yeah, about that..." The defense attorney's smile widened. "Harris' gun was seized when he was arrested during a drug bust. This was also when Neil Duncan was apprehended, five months ago. Somehow, that gun disappeared from the evidence room. See, something else went missing, too." Phoenix rifled through the presented evidence, and presented the evidence bag containing a few red hairs. "I took a trip to criminal affairs yesterday afternoon. A few of Neil Duncan's hairs were taken from that crime scene, and apparently, they'd recently gone missing."

"H-how recently!?"

"Nobody-knew-they-were-gone-until-I-asked-to-see-them recently."

The prosecutor's eyes squeezed shut again, in an atypical gesture of reflection. "Can you prove that this is where those hairs came from, Wright?"

"I'm glad you asked!"

For Miles Edgeworth, things only got worse from here. Wright was able to counter his every argument with an unusual lack of wild guessing. He felt slow. Every retort and objection coming after a sluggish pause he would never have consciously allowed himself. He was either losing his touch or his mind, and he couldn't quite decide which was worse.

The hairs, Wright asserted, were at least two inches too long to belong to the short haired Duncan; however his hair had been a similar length prior to his arrest. Besides which, only one of the hairs had been eligible for DNA testing. Not to mention the killer's inexplicable path of escape.

MacArthur had, supposedly, been tormenting him in the police car on his way to the detention center. He'd bolted from the car in a fit of panic, and only fled in earnest when the officer had fired at him.

His heart sank as Wright blasted a hole in the piece of evidence that might very well have cost their witness her life. He wasn't sure how he hadn't seen it himself. Perhaps he'd been too busy glowering at the evidence to really inspect it properly, perhaps he was too fatigued. Either way, disgraced and miserable, Edgeworth had to concede that the regular, round pattern the attorney had found stuck into the tape against which the incriminating fingerprints sat was not at all consistent with a smooth, metal doorknob. The prints MacArthur lifted had been handed off to the forensic team, and between that point and the trial, someone had replaced them with Duncan's prints, taken from somewhere else entirely.

How was Duncan to know to wait outside of the Prosecutor's building?

And how, exactly, had he identified her as working with law enforcement? No uniform and textbooks over her shoulder, coupled with her young appearance would point to intern more readily than expert witness.

And he could verify his claim to being outside of Wright's office all night. He had been listening to the neighbor's television, and the western movie playing, through an open window at the time when the prosecutor had received MacArthur's phone call. While knowing the television schedule was hardly an alibi, knowing that the couple nearby happened to be watching it, and that they'd had an argument over their car right before the power outage was. Especially given that there was no earthly way to reach from Wright's office to his own, on foot, in the crime's time frame.

All of this evidence, Phoenix concluded, indicated that someone was framing his client, and though he didn't say so blatantly, whoever it was clearly had strong ties to the authorities.

Helplessly, he had to admit to the truth: Edgeworth could find nothing to contest.

Court was to adjourn until the following day, to allow for further investigation.

***

"Aw, come on Mister Edgeworth," the detective persisted, his best kicked-puppy look etched into his sullen features. "I feel terrible about this too, pal. That's why I want to go make see how she's doing."

"You do that, detective. I'm going back to my office. I have investigating to do, and frankly, so do you." The prosecutor glowered at the assembled group of friends who had cornered him at the foot of the stairwell. His... compulsions, made him fairly simple to locate. Wright was eyeing him strangely, and was easy enough to resist, but Maya Fey's expectant grin, hands pressed flat together, was another matter all together. "Alright, fine," he chuckled to himself humorlessly, "I'd be loathed to let you get to all of the evidence before I can, Wright. I'll tag along."

The car ride to the hospital was slow, and gloomy. The prosecutor gazed dully out the car window, arm resting against the door, face buried in the palm of his hand. He turned the previous night's events over in his head trying to make sense of the seemingly pointless and inexplicable series of events. A cold dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as they approached their destination, but eventually he found himself walking reluctantly down unnerving, sterile white hallways, the pack of lawyers, a detective, and the odd spirit medium were blatant among nurses and patients, and the receptionist they approached eyed them incredulously.

"Are you family?"

"Uh....Well no...."

"Nick!" Maya whispered, "say you're her cousin or something, come on!"

"Then I'm sorry. You'll have to wait. Family only in the ICU, and only two at a time. That particular patient has just left surgery; I'd suggest you come back tomorrow or later, when she's conscious."

The woman's scorn, however, subsided slightly as Detective Gumshoe pushed his way to the front of their group, towering over her. "Listen, pal, we're investigating an attempted murder, here. I think this would be considered an exception."

The woman sighed, and eyed the detective from above her reading glasses. "Fine," a few clicks of her mouse brought her to the correct information. "Fifth floor, room 532. Two at a time, be quiet."

The knot in his stomach tightened with each step, and when he finally found himself on the fifth floor landing, it took a moment and steadying breath to push through the door, and join the other three. The intensive care unit was a large, noisy, brightly lit room, surreally equipped hospital beds, covered in various monitors and sets of tubing, along one wall and separated by sterile, viridian, plastic curtains. Their eyes trailed collectively over the patients and visitors, but Edgeworth's eyes settled on her unmoving form first. She was the only one lying face down, and the short, dark haired man seated by her, side looked dreadfully familiar. The detective, attorney, and spirit medium lingered behind intentionally, not that he minded them.

He kept his eyes on– Jacques, or Jacob as he supposedly preferred– to avoid the inevitable glance downwards. His eyes flickered around the detested thing, avoiding her brother's furious gaze, and staying directed towards the clinical white floor tiles. He only just noted the contented little girl scribbling, haphazard, all over a coloring book on the ground, and from there to the corner of the thin, white sheets pushed over the edge of the bed. Grey eyes were drawn irresistibly from the corner along the edge of the bed until finally, and inescapably, they rested on a pallid, limp hand, and the intravenous drip inserted under the skin. A thick clip over one finger connected her to a machine that registered her slow heartbeat. Along the bruised arm, his gaze moved to her face, turned towards him– bloodless and still, heavy sedation kept her from any semblance of typical sleep.

"Can I help you?" he interrupted gruffly, "or are you just here to gawk at my idiot sister?" He narrowed his eyes at the prosecutor and motioned towards the door.

The silver haired man jolted suddenly from his thoughts, though the discomfort remained. The accusatory tone tugged at the knot in his gut, and the tension seemed to extend into his chest, sick, cold, guilt worming its way into his veins again. "I'm terribly sorry. We're here to investigate the attack– " he began.

"Broken wrist, hit her head, and... oh! Yeah, there was a bullet stuck in her spinal column. She'll never walk again, provided she lives long enough to miss it. There, done," he snapped. "You really should leave now."

The prosecutor's eyes flew to meet the other man's, and he blinked owlishly as the words sunk in. His brain ran over them again, unnecessarily, slowing his reaction time to a crawl– he was in desperate need of more sleep. He simply wasn't sharp today. "Mister Laurent has a point." He took in a shaking breath, after a prolonged pause. "We were told two at a time... If you'll excuse me, I'd best go see the evidence the paramedics would have brought with them...."

"I think that would be best."

With a curt nod and turn on his heel, he darted out of the accursedly bright, unnerving room, past the other three– away from Jacques' charging eyes and the broken body sending a chill down his spine– metaphorical tail tucked securely between his legs.

* * *

First aid notice: Ok, so AR isn't actually practiced anymore. Last I heard recently, you go straight to CPR; however, if Edgey learned when I did initially, AR if they've still got a pulse was the procedure. Initially, I described the process more accurately, step wise, but it was kind of interrupting the narrative. Soo.... Nobody kill anyone with my fic!First aid xD;

Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are lovely! Hope you're enjoying so far.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six

Disclaimer: Ace attorney belongs to Capcom, and Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle xD

* * *

He pushed his hair from his face, palm to his forehead. The bullet had been lodged in her spine. Of course it had, where else did he think it would be, positioned that way? He hadn't been thinking, he supposed. The revolting snap as he'd rolled her over took on a new, grisly significance, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded.

There was a waiting room of sorts to his left and he ducked inside, out of the way of a hastening gurney. Blank walls stared back at him, but a small window against the back wall, looking out over the city and partially obscured by both a tree obscuring the view and a potted plant on the sill, it was less dismal than the rest of the hospital. There were cartoons playing, slightly too low to listen to easily, on a television set up in the corner. A peep from a chair set up opposite the TV drew him to a tiny presence he'd missed on his first scan of the room.

"Hi." A little girl, dark haired and green eyed, sat cross legged, smiling at him. "You hiding too? I don't like it in that room either."

He quirked a grey eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm hiding?"

"You don't look like a doctor," she informed him, "and you don't look sick. So you must be visiting. And whoever your visiting isn't in here."

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth momentarily, as he took the other seat. "An excellent deduction," he admitted, "but I am here on business. I'm a lawyer."

"Oh!" Her face brightened, "that means you make stuff up and take people's money, right?"

"W-what?" he stammered, making a face. "No, no, nothing of the kind."

"That's what Daddy says you do," she grinned, obliviously. "He tells lots of jokes. I don't get them but they must be funny. Do you want to hear some?"

He forced a smile. "I assure you, I've heard them all. Your father isn't fond of us, I take it."

She nodded glumly, and returned to the craft he now noted clutched in her minute hands. Deft fingers worked away at intricate knots in flat plastic thread, weaving them round, and occasionally complemented with a bead plucked painstakingly from the sandwich bag jammed against the chair's arm. "It's okay, you know," she advised him, setting the half-formed bracelet down and pulling a length of something from the bag, "Daddy doesn't like my aunt's job either, and I still like her."

"What does your aunt do?"

The girl smiled fondly. "Aunt Danni makes sure that people who need to go to a hospital go to a hospital, and that the people who should go to jail go to jail."

"Aunt..._** Danni**_...?" The prosecutor's temporary relief was at an end, and his stomach plummeted into icy remorse. Edgeworth winced, and set to thoroughly examining the fern by the window. "And your father doesn't approve of that work?

"Dad says that 'when you devote your life to saving the criminally insane, you're not allowed to complain when one of them finally shoots you.' Or something." He supposed the exaggerated scowl and attempted deep voice were an intended impersonation of Jacob. The girl nodded grimly, eyes returning to the more simple string-and-ponybead bracelet she formed one carefully selected piece at a time. "She's not doing so well right now. I don't like being in there, it gives me the creeps. My sister doesn't mind, but Julie doesn't know any better. She's only five. She has no idea what's going on, I don't think." Her face brightened again. "But Daddy says that Aunt Danni's going to come live with us, once she gets better, until she gets _**all**_ the way better! She and Daddy and step-mommy don't get along so well, but neither do Julie and me sometimes, so that's okay. So I'll get to see her every other weekend, and on some holidays."

The man cleared his throat, tugging awkwardly at his sleeve as the plant had failed to be much to examine. He changed the subject, indicating the abandoned first bracelet beside her. "You're very good at that."

"I spent a lot of time at summer camp," she replied with a sigh. "Aunt Danni smashed the beady ones I made her. The plastic stuff won't break so easily," she chirped, tying off the knot to finished the gaudy mess of round plastic. "Here!" She held it out to him expectantly.

"Pardon?"

"For you," she exclaimed happily.

"Oh, no I couldn't–" the crestfallen expression that followed the statement, large green eyes blinking as an odd little whining sound told her disappointment. "But of course," he corrected hastily, "I've never been one to refuse a gift from a lady–" Her freckled face brightened immediately as he accepted the thing, and reluctantly pushed it around his wrist. "It's lovely," he said, surreptitiously hiding it under his sleeve. "Very... green."

"Green and red are opposites," the young Laurent insisted, prodding at the maroon fabric of his sleeve. "They go together. Like Christmas." She tilted her freckled face to the side, an inquisitive glint in olive eyes. "You said you were here on business. Like what?"

Astute little thing. "Do you remember how your aunt ensures that..." he paused, remembering her phrasing, "that people who should go to jail go to jail? That's what I do, though differently. I'm one of the people responsible for investigating the your aunt's attack,"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, a smile flickering then fading. "Are...are you going to catch the bad guy who hurt her?"

Edgeworth bit back on the guilt bubbling in his stomach, and nodded. "I... _**we**_, are going to do everything we can to make sure that the person who did that to her never hurts anyone, ever again." He pushed himself to his feet, and "On that note, I believe I should return to work. I have evidence to examine, and," he wished he could smirk in response to her grin, but it came out rather weakly, tapered by the knowledge of a certain broken body down the hall. "I have a 'bad guy' to catch."

***

"You've gotta stop beating yourself up about this, sir," the detective murmured as they idled before a red light, expression and tone bleak. "I mean, It was me who was supposed to be keeping her safe, after all–"

"And you're _**my**_ responsibility, Detective. Ergo...." He scowled, and shook away that particular train of thought. "Franziska's right, I am a fool," he sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "I honestly thought she'd be better off if we left her sleeping there, hidden and locked in, than out in the open with you and I."

The evidence retrieved from the scene was indecipherable. There was no trace of anyone else's DNA on the torn green dress, and nothing found in the soles of her sandals. A set of bruises ran along her body indicative of a fall from a modest height, but the broken wrist, according to the forensics department, didn't fit with those mild injuries. It did, however line up with her head injury in a way that suggested she'd been protecting herself from a strike from whatever had hit her skull. But without question, the strangest piece of information was the way the bullet had been embedded in her spine, and the impossibly low angle of the gunshot it suggested. Not to mention the inexplicable bits of yellow yarn he'd somehow missed, clenched in her right hand.

The car went quiet, and the detective, head ducked in shame, finally broke the silence with a meek, cringing sigh. "I'm just glad you were with me, Mister Edgeworth." His eyes shifted anxiously over at the other man, his face screwed up tensely. "I know you think you'd have been able to help her, pal, but... the thing is..." Gumshoe shut his eyes with a grimace. "I think that maybe, if something made it so that she absolutely _**had **_to leave, you might have been out there too, at the time, and... well, you know. You might not...."

"I Appreciate your concern, but I–" Something caught the younger man's attention, his sentence trailing off. "Detective?" he asked suddenly, more energetically.

"Yes, Mister Edgeworth?" He brightened at the sound of the less dismal tone. It was distracted, but at least engaged in something. "What is it?"

"Are all of the patrol cars identical on the inside?"

"Mhm! Most of 'em. The older ones might not be, but... Yeah, I can't see any difference, really. Why?"

Edgeworth trailed a finger over the circular indentations into the plastic side of the car door. "I think I know where those prints came from."

***

A flash of light caught Maya's eye, and she immediately dropped to her hands and knees, poking around the elevator's bottom corner. "I think I see a quarter..."

Gumshoe shuffled out of her way as the elevator jolted to a halt at the twelfth floor. Wright was still mulling over the exposure of the fingerprints that Gumshoe had related to him earlier. He supposed it was a bit odd for the defense to be visiting the prosecution during a trial, but Edgeworth had seemed less than himself as they'd left the hospital, and if this would cheer him up, then he was all for it.

"Hey, I found something!" Maya pushed herself back to her feet, a cracked, bright red hunk of plastic pressed between her thumb and forefinger as she hopped out into the hallway with the two men.

To their surprise, the prosecutor's door was wide open, the man himself leaning against the doorframe, peering inside. "Does anyone else smell ammonia?" he muttered, brows furrowed before noting the attorney's presence and abruptly retreating inside, to his desk and his laptop. "Fried," he sighed at the ruined thing, unfortunately left plugged in during the power surge. Phoenix wandered inside, mouth pulled taught as he thought his words through carefully.

"You stunk in court today," he tried, attempting a smile in response to the noncommital glance he received in return over the useless laptop.

"There was nothing to argue," he admitted.

"So we've come to the same conclusion."

Edgeworth nodded bleakly. "Whoever did this is still free, and we don't, currently, have the evidence to determine who. Though, there was something odd," he replied, distracted as his eyes swept his office carefully. "Her coat is gone. It isn't here, she.... the victim didn't have it at the scene of the crime..." he corrected, getting to his feet, and pushing the couch away from the wall to see if it had conceivably fallen behind. Nothing but her book bag was to be found.

The prosecutor shook his head, drawing a rather juvenile checkered wallet from the bag."She would have presumably brought this if she'd intended to buy something." Several textbooks, a spiral notebook and blue pen, and cell phone were also unhelpful. A worn copy of _A Study in Scarlet _clattered to the ground, relinquishing the bus transfer jammed between it's pages as a marker, followed by at least a dozen handmade bracelets that brought a grim, inexplicable smile to the prosecutor's face.

"Hey, I found one of those."

"Pardon?" The grey haired man's widened eyes flew towards Maya, and the bright thing in her hand.

Maya nodded brightly, displaying the bright plastic bead she'd collected. "I found this in the elevator. It looks like one from those bracelets."

"The elevator..." he mused, folding his hands together, and resting his forehead against them. "So she left the building after the power returned. No, that's not right. Why would there be a broken bead in the elevator when she was attacked outside?"

"Maybe that's why she was leaving, sir." Detective Gumshoe offered, grinning when his suggestion was met with a nod. "Maybe she hurt herself in here, and went for help."

The sun was setting over the city, intruding into the office in long, orange stipes of light and shadow cast across the floor, shining brazenly between silhouetted buildings and into the spirit medium's eyes. "Hey, do you mind if I closed your curtains?" Maya asked, shielding her eyes with her sleeve.

"Of course." He sighed, interlaced fingers pressed over his eyes as he turned the facts over, and over in his mind. "Someone attacked the victim two nights ago, after setting up Neil Duncan, and fled, framing him."

"Sorry about that...Honest mistake..." Gumshoe grumbled.

"The same person broke into her apartment to..." he grimaced and stopped for a moment, "and left the hairs and exchanged the prints from to frame Duncan."

"And whoever it was knew to look for her here."

"For whatever reason, she stepped outside, and was then shot. "

"Yeah, but the angle of the bullet still doesn't make any sense." Phoenix cocked his head to the side as he pondered, groaning as he caught sight of what the teenage girl was doing. "Maya, get down from there."

The spirit medium was too short to properly take hold of the curtains. She'd taken a step up, onto the short wooden bookshelf under his window. On tiptoes, she grasped for the edge of the curtain, finally catching it by the fringe.

The prosecutor jumped to his feet as something occurred to him. "Miss Fey, please hold still."

"Wha?" Maya turned at the sound of her name, the sudden movement made her wobble on the unsteady bookshelf, and she teetered backwards precariously with a squeak. The detective bolted forward, and the little mystic toppled safely into his arms.

The prosecutor strode towards the window, and to everyone's surprise, hoisted himself similarly onto the bookshelf. "As I thought," he announced. "There are frayed bits of fringe here. Someone yanked out a few of the pieces of yarn."

"And that's what they found in her hand," Phoenix agreed.

"So," Maya began, as Gumshoe set her back down, "she fell, tried to grab onto the curtain and ripped out the fringe, broke her wrist, then went outside to get help."

"That seems to be the case," the grey haired man replied, stepping back toe the floor and crouching beside his chair. "The victim struck her head on whatever broke her wrist. My desk seems most likely."

Phoenix crouched beside him, an odd, familiar scent seemed to rise from the floor. "No blood," he hummed, examining the edge and the legs. "It's kinda far away, too. How tall was Miss Laurent?" Edgeworth shrugged, and diverted his attention back to the furniture. Gumshoe checked their records, and stated that she was five-four. She wouldn't have had quite as much trouble as Maya, but she would still have had to improvise a footstool to close the curtains. Maya suggested that the lightning had been bothering her, and he couldn't see anything else to explain the compulsion at that hour. The prosecutor glanced down as something went crunch beneath his shoe.

White, tiny jagged white particles littered the floor, out of sight. They settled in cracks, and underneath his desk. It was ceramic, he noted, and one of his tea cups was missing. His stomach plummeted, and in a sudden moment of realization, Edgeworth feared his heart might stop. "Perhaps..." he began, getting slowly to his feet in a daze, and wandered over to a waste basket in a corner. He glanced inside, and to his horror, found it empty. "Perhaps she didn't leave at all."

"What do you mean, pal?"

"Well," the prosecutor began unsteadily, steely brows furrowed, "someone cleaned up the more obvious pieces of this broken teacup. The victim had a broken wrist, giving her higher priorities than cleaning up immediately. Secondly, there was nothing strange found on her feet, or shoes."

"Oh!" The detective grinned. "I get it, Mister Edgeworth. This stuff is everywhere..." he noted, as he leaned in to examine the floor. "So, there'd have been sharp little pieces everywhere, right? There'd have been pieces stuck to her shoes, or her feet would have been cut up when she went to pick 'em up."

"Someone else was here."

The prosecutor eyed the defense attorney, and nodded grimly. "This door was locked. The victim must have let them in."

"Someone she knew, then, or someone she would trust. We already figured it was someone in law enforcement." Phoenix furrowed his unusual eyebrows, a hand thoughtfully to his chin. He sank slowly to his knees, taking in a deep breath along the office floor much to everyone's surprise.

"Wright, are you quite alright?"

"I noticed a minute ago– your floor smells like bleach."

"A lot of it..." Edgeworth muttered under his breath. "Whoever cleaned up the teacup..."

"Was probably cleaning up blood, too." Phoenix concluded, glancing up at the window with a wince. "That could explain the angle of the bullet." With a little coaxing, he helped Maya back up onto the bookshelf. "Detective, if someone your size were to shoot at her at that angle..."

"No way, pal," Gumshow chuckled weakly, pointing an imaginary weapon at the impossible angle. "Even up there, it'd go right over Maya's head." He shuddered visibly. "It'd would up in Miss Danielle brain, at that rate."

"Sit down."

"What?" Gumshoe turned his attention to the prosecutor eyeing him lamely from across the room, his hands clenched into slack, useless fists against his sides. The younger man gestured to the couch, his voice strained.

"He was sitting down when he shot her." Edgeworth's teeth clenched, as he began pacing the distance between both walls, a cold fury settling itself into the once-and-perhaps-future Demon prosecutor's features. "She let him in. He sat down.... made small talk.... lulled her into a false sense of security... then shot her the minute her back was turned."

"But he couldn't leave her here," Phoenix continued slowly, as the facts linked themselves together in his head. "As soon as the power was back on, he snuck her downstairs by the elevator, and left her in the alleyway–"

"–while he cleaned up the crime scene. She wasn't alive out of luck," he scathed, "the villain wasn't _**finished **_with her yet."

Gumshoe's face seemed to drain, visibly, of it's colour. "Wait, wait. So you mean that while we were out there with Miss Danielle..." Edgeworth nodded sternly.

Night had fallen, bright windows lighting the darkened shapes of other buildings, as nothing but a faint orange glow over the horizon was all that remained of the bright sun that had been blinding not long before. The prosecutor's eyes slipped shut as he ran the day's events through his head once again, as one name lurked inches from Danielle's again, and again, and again.

"Detective," he began, drawing in another breath to steady himself, and letting his other hand rest against the lumpy plastic bracelet affectionately strangling his wrist under the sleeve of his jacket. "Who was it who drew us out of the office in the first place?"

* * *

Thank you all for reading! Hope you liked it :)

Also, Dani's other niece is named Claire xD


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